Resurgent
by Sanctuaria
Summary: When you've experienced something this traumatic, this otherworldly, at such a young age, there aren't all that many options left. What else could she do but become a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent herself? This is the story of the 'civilian girl' from Bahrain. Spoilers through the beginning of season 2, does NOT follow the canon of 2x17 "Melinda," as it was written beforehand.
1. Bahrain (1996)

**With the season finale of _Agent Carter_ airing tomorrow and _Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D._ returning in eight days, I decided it was time to post this despite the fact that I am not done with it yet. It's been in the works for a long time. The first two chapters deal with May and the base of the 'Cavalry' nickname before we actually get to meet the young S.H.I.E.L.D. agent the "civilian girl" from the Bahrain mission grew up to be. ****Please, enjoy. **

**Foreword**

[Personal Log:  
Location: Sanctuary Base  
31 December 2015  
617 Days After the HYDRA Uprising]_

Special report for Nick J. Fury, classified level eight. I know that you're supposed to be the only one who ever gets to read this, sir, but I can't help but feel like it'll fall into someone else's hands someday, and I want them to understand everything that's happened since that fateful day, everything that's spiraled us down on this path. You know most of this already—who knows how much you've been monitoring us all along, really—but for their sake I'll start from the beginning. It makes the most sense that way.

Very few people can say they've survived Agent Melinda May unscathed. Even fewer can say she's used their first name. Even fewer than that can say they know her.

I am a rare one, to say the least. I know her. We don't necessarily get along, but I know her. I understand her drive, her hidden compassion, and her power. I understand the beautiful warrior with the heart of ice. We have a lot in common, she and I.

We weren't always this way. August 11, 1996—it started. For me at least. Three miles south of Manama, Bahrain.

That's where I first met Agent May. That's where she saved my life.

And remember, sir, we classified this for a reason—I don't want just any agent picking up this file folder off your desk and reading my life story. Plus there is probably some stuff in here that really should be classified, if S.H.I.E.L.D. still had the official jurisdiction to do such things. And I don't think May would exactly be thrilled with her part in here either. In fact, there might be some gentle maiming should she ever find out. I'd prefer to avoid that.

Okay. Here we go.

* * *

[Mission Log:  
Location: CLASSIFIED  
11 August 1996  
18 Years Prior to the HYDRA Uprising] _

"Melinda? Melinda, what happened in there?" Phil Coulson asked worriedly, surveying his fellow agent and good friend. Her face was dusted with soot and congealed blood leaked from one temple. Her lip was cut on one side and she walked toward him with a slight limp. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she answered with a clipped tone, avoiding his gaze.

"I've done my fair share of telling S.H.I.E.L.D. doctors the same thing," Coulson told her. "Remember Melbourne? I'm very familiar with fine, and you don't look it." Not even a ghost of a smile.

Giving him one last, long look, she pulled the trunk of the car open with a vengeance and dropped the firearm she'd been holding inside it. Coulson knew she hadn't gone in with a gun. Certainly not a lethal one. They were only the Index Asset Evaluation and Intake team; what had gone so horribly wrong that May wouldn't even speak more than two words to him? Usually she was laughing after missions, telling stories of her enemy's stupidity and sometimes even her own. Or, on a bad one, they'd go to a nondescript convenience store and return with a bottle of alcohol. They'd talk it over; take comfort in one another's understanding. He couldn't comprehend why she would push him away now. It hurt his heart to see her like this.

"Get in the car," she ordered, stalking to the passenger side and climbing in. He reluctantly acquiesced, shoving the stick shift of the black van into gear and following the line of S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles headed back across the small desert to Manama. She never let him drive.

"Did we lose someone?" he continued with the questions. Silences had never before been an issue between him and Melinda—usually they meant a really good quip was on its way—but this one felt different. She exuded tension and something else he couldn't quite identify. "Corrigan, Moto, Gherig?"

"They're fine." For a moment he thought that was all she was going to give him, but she added, "They're in the other van, recovering."

"And who was the girl?"

"The girl?" She looked at him, studying his face, feigning surprise.

"I arrived just in time to see you bring out a girl in your arms. She couldn't have been more than what, eight? Nine? What the hell was she doing in a place like that?"

"I don't know." May faced forward, staring off into the distance again. The car lurched forward on the uneven sand.

"You can't go running off like that, Melinda," Coulson told her. "I didn't even realize you were gone until it was too late. I was so worried that you'd get yourself killed. I couldn't lose you like that, May. We promised that of either of us was going to die, the other would be right by their side fighting to the end, remember? What were you thinking?"

"Those were our people trapped in there, Phil," May monotoned in a low voice. "Not specialists, the evaluation part of an I.E.A.I. team. Fury didn't seem to take that into account. As soon as Harris said there were more than sixty guys in there... He wanted us to sit on our hands for a _day_ so that proper backup could arrive. Superior numbers."

"So you stole a S.H.I.E.L.D. van and took it out to the compound yourself with no backup whatsoever? We didn't even realize you were gone until an hour later! It was a stupid move, May! Just stupid!" he shouted. She refused to look at him, and all of a sudden the blood on her head and haunted look in her eyes registered with him again. He touched her shoulder gently. "I'm glad you're alive."

Her next words nearly stopped his heart. "I'm not so sure you should be."

They followed none of their post-op rituals over the next few days. After their plane departed the Bahrainian runway, it was impossible to have any more time alone until they touched down again, and the fact that there was a child on the plane robbed them of any conversation regarding the S.H.I.E.L.D. mission or results. May sat next to him, stony-faced.

The girl was another enigma entirely. She just sat silently in one of the back seats, refusing to speak but watching everything with wide, alert eyes. She looked Russian to his best guess, but how a little Russian girl would end up in Bahrain was beyond him. Her auburn hair was unkempt, as if it had not been washed in many days, and her clothes were plain and unadorned: rough, faded blue jeans and a shirt that might have once been green but now appeared to be more of a slime hue. The few agents that sat down next to her got no response and eventually left, and Coulson noticed that she stared at May more than the rest of them. From the murmurs of the other agents, there were speculations that she was a victim of human trafficking or the gifted's progeny herself, but nothing further could be known until one of the agents rescued were well enough to give a report or the girl herself deigned to speak.

After touchdown, May gave no indication that she required nor wanted his company, but he followed her back to her apartment anyway and she raised no vocal objection. There they drank in silence, and when they were done she bade him goodnight and left him standing just outside her door as it shut definitively in front of his eyes. He left for the night, not wishing to disturb her privacy, but returned early the next morning and left himself in with the key with which she had entrusted him. He made breakfast, receiving a polite "thank you" in return, and even found the courage to ask about the origin of the smallest piece of a Russian nesting doll that mysteriously appeared on her sidetable. She strung more words together than she had in days. "It was in my hand when we left the op." He heralded that as progress.

It wasn't.

The next week followed the same routine, until she finally turned on him one day and told him that he should return to work. "I'll be fine on my own until Fury clears me for duty again. It's not as if I've never lived on my own before, Phil." It was that same hard, emotionless voice he'd grown accustomed to hearing over the eight days. He feared he would begin to forget what her laugh, once so abundantly given and shared, sounded like. Or, even worse, she herself would forget.

He could find no rhyme nor reason for him to stay as long as she insisted on her wellness, and left with a heavy heart. Melinda May had not lost a single agent she'd gone to rescue in there, but it was becoming more and more clear to him that she'd lost herself somewhere in the shadowy depths of that compound. His Melinda May seemed to have all but disappeared.

* * *

**If you feel so inclined, feel free to leave some feedback. Updates will come every 3-5 days until I run out of pre-written material, about twenty chapters from now.**


	2. Meeting of the Badasses (1997)

**Because of the way the site is set up, this chapter is actually Chapter 2, but it was the only way I could get it to send a notification of a new posting to the followers. If you have not read the new Chapter 1 (concerning Bahrain), this will make more sense if you read that first. Agent Romanoff will still be waiting for you when you get back ;)**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Ann Arbor, Michigan  
13 January 1997  
17 Years Before the HYDRA Uprising] _

She closed the fridge with one hand, the other holding a container of cold pizza. She placed it in the microwave, pressing Start. The drone of the machine was a blessed relief from the tumult of her thoughts but they soon began to creep in again, insidious and dark, as the seconds ticked by. As she lifted the piece to her mouth—it was still half cold in places but she couldn't bring herself to care—she suddenly became aware of another presence in the room. She shut the microwave door with an angry bang, turning to face him with true agitation. "I told you, I don't need to be babied."

"Good, because I was never a babysitter," the woman standing in the threshold of her kitchen said. She wore tight black leather, and May's eyes jumped quickly from the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignias on her uniform to her short, curly red hair to the scarlet hourglass symbol attached to the front of her belt. She couldn't have been more than seventeen, but Melinda May was wary. Very wary.

The young woman went on, perfectly at ease in the environment. "I've never been good with children. Maybe it's because I didn't spend much time as one myself."

"What are you doing in my apartment?" No one but Phil had entered her personal space since...the mission. She'd gone in, obviously, proved to the world she wasn't completely out of it these last four months, but she always came back. This was her sanctuary, but also her prison.

And this was...Black Widow. The Black Widow was standing in the doorway to her kitchen. Black Widow, infamous Soviet-spy turned freelancer, who'd become a legend at S.H.I.E.L.D. as a shadowy figure that left only neat bodies in her wake. She was incredibly good at her trade. Incredibly young. Incredibly deadly. And currently standing in her apartment, wanting to _talk_.

"Coulson sent me," the woman said, stepping forward and holding out her hand. May made no move to come close enough to shake it. "Natasha Romanoff, Agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. Or soon to be, anyway. Still have to get the final stamps from the upper levels. Coulson's been teaching me enough to get by on the interviews."

"Then how'd you get the S.H.I.E.L.D. patches?" May found herself asking. Because _that _was the most important question on her mind right now.

Romanoff raised an eyebrow. "I stole them, of course. Espionage 101. No one in a top-secret intelligence organization looks at you twice if you're wearing their uniform. Especially if you've personalized it, like I have." Her hand drifted down to the cloth hourglass on her belt. "Coulson briefed me on Bahrain, at least what he knows. You won't talk to him, but he thought you might to me."

"And why in the world would he think that?" May asked, hostility dripping from every syllable. She set the pizza down on the plate, placing it on the counter. Dusted her hands off and wiped the oil onto a napkin. Just in case they were needed. She did have a vague recollection of a mission plan to take Black Widow out. Obviously, things hadn't exactly gone as planned.

"Because of who I am and what I do. What you did in Bahrain? I do it every day of the week." At May's silence, Romanoff continued, "It's the job. My job. What I was trained to do. But that doesn't make it any easier." She took a step further into the kitchen. "It's never easy. Getting red in your ledger. And it's doubly hard the moment you realize that that red can't be wiped out. Can't be rectified, no matter what acts of good and charity you perform afterwards. No matter which side you end up on. It's immutable. It'll be a part of you, weighing down your conscience, always." She gives a slight smile at May's look. "Yes, I have a conscience. Also a code, but I don't suppose any of your S.H.I.E.L.D. rumors about my ruthlessness include that part." She grew serious again. "And then there's the moment when you realize that you can do nothing but spend the rest of your life trying to atone for the red. You'll never be able to, but you have to try. It's the only thing you can do." Romanoff looked down at her catsuit and plucked a tiny piece of something—lint, rubble, human flesh, it was unimportant—off of it, casting it onto the ground. "I can see in your eyes that you've already realized this on some deep level. It's why you haven't dropped out of the world completely. Because you could, you know. Specialist like you, I'm sure you have a few safehouses around the world. Hell, I've got more than a few, and I can't even legally drink in the U.S. yet. If you really wanted to disappear, S.H.I.E.L.D. would never be able to find you. But Phil Coulson? He'd never stop looking. Having someone, who has your back like that...it's precious." She spoke almost wistfully, as if she could only speculate on the point, never having experienced it herself. "So you need to make a decision. Stay with S.H.I.E.L.D., show them your commitment. Visiting a base, going on an op here and there, that's not enough. They've trained an agent in you, not a consultant."

"Coulson really did tell you everything," May spat. "And you of all people, giving a lecture on loyalty?" She was covering now. Romanoff's words had struck home more than she liked to admit.

"I only speak from my own experience."

"So, the infamous Black Widow is playing psychotherapist in between assassinations?" May asked, but nearly all the hostility had been drained from her voice.

Just for a second, Romanoff's eyes flashed. "Don't call me that unless you're trying to kill me or I'm trying to kill you. And with S.H.I.E.L.D. agents I like to avoid both of those options on a first-time meeting; it tends to breed animosity with people Fury'll make me work with later."

"You're so sure that I'll stay with S.H.I.E.L.D.?"

Romanoff shrugged. "The organization needs you." She went for light, lips quirking up into a half-smile. "They need more agents who can see past the patches and insignias. Recognize the real threats."

Agent May's jaw locked before she replied, letting the silence take over while she waited for the conclusion of the battleground that her brain had become. "My training didn't encompass any of this," she finally admitted. "The Academy taught us to locate targets. To utilize the materials and opportunities around us. To fight, shoot, and eliminate the threat." She stopped. "Pizza?"

"Sure," Romanoff replied, unfazed. May put the container on the table and the woman she had just met took the chair across from her and helped herself to a slice. May reclaimed the one she'd been about to bite into all those minutes ago. They were cold, but it appeared neither of them minded. "The Academy," Romanoff prompted when the silence had stretched on long enough.

"What do you do when the threat's an innocent?" May asked suddenly. "What do you do when there's a child walking toward you with an Uzi and opens fire on you with the full knowledge of his own actions in his eyes? When it's adults with obviously no training but who just keep coming?" She broke off, feeling the spy's intense gaze from across table. "It was some kind of mind control he was using, I never found out what it was. But our people were in there, other members of the I.A.E.I. team that hadn't made it out with us when we finally realized the man wasn't what he seemed. So I eliminated the threat...eliminated civilians caught in his web."

Romanoff regarded her with something akin to understanding in her blue eyes. "My handler suggested reminding myself that it was for the greater good. For the love of Mother Russia, really, but it's the same idea."

"Did it help?"

"No." She took another piece of pizza and bit into it. "Nothing justifies it, and nothing ever will. But you can remember that it was necessary, and hold onto that."

May dipped her head, processing that. It was necessary. Yes, that she could believe. Things were too gray for 'it was the right thing to do' but she firmly believed in her heart that it had been necessary. She wouldn't have left Phil and the others in Manama to mount the rescue on her own if it hadn't been. "I think Fury wants me back in the field."

Romanoff raised an eyebrow. "Why wouldn't he? You have more black belts than I do, and my file has words like 'treacherous' and 'unpredictable' in it."

"I'm not sure I can do that again."

"Then screw him. Screw Fury, he doesn't run your life. As I understand it, S.H.I.E.L.D. has many facets. Utilize your skills in another one. You could run ops in one of the bases, train recruits at the Academy, design the ops themselves."

"You seem to know an awful lot about the inner workings of S.H.I.E.L.D. for someone who isn't part of it."

"Yet," the spy reminded her. "It's always a good idea to vet your employer beforehand." A sudden ringing sound pierced the air, and Romanoff pulled her phone out from somewhere under all that leather. "Damn, I've got to go in." She stood from the table. "I hope you'll remember what I've said, Agent May. It was nice to meet you."

"I will. Thank you for coming," May said sincerely.

"Here's my number. Call me if you need anything. I'll answer any time of day or night as long as I'm not in the middle of kicking some guy's ass—or even if I am." She slid a small slip of paper across the table. "Be sure to swallow that when you're done." May couldn't tell if she was kidding or not. She stood to see her out, and Romanoff held out her hand again. This time May took it. "Tasha," Romanoff told her.

"Melinda."

They shook hands, and then the spy left.

Natasha Romanoff, May thought. Perhaps not so bad after all.

The next morning, she did call Phil and told him she was coming in. She also informed him of her switch in divisions, to administration. "Thank you, Phil," she said, "for sending her. Talking to Romanoff was actually very helpful."

"What?" he asked, confused. "I didn't...I don't even work with..." The line got quieter, as if he'd moved the phone away from his face. "Barton! Have you been keeping tabs on Romanoff?"

* * *

**Not the last time we'll see Romanoff, I promise. Next chapter we meet our main character. Please tell me what you thought!**


	3. Mission Prep (2014)

**Thanks for reading. For anyone who is confused, Agent May is not the main character of this story - the girl she rescued from Bahrain is. However, May will show up a lot: she's at the Hub after HYDRA emerges and she and the girl will have some interesting dynamics between them when Coulson approves her transfer to the Playground and May finds out who she is (Will May be able to work with someone who directly reminds her constantly of what she did that earned her the nickname 'The Cavalry'?)**

* * *

[Mission Log:  
Location: The Hub  
21 April 2014  
08:05  
2 Days Prior to HYDRA Uprising] _

"Your mission, should you choose to accept it," said a voice. I knew that voice.

I spun around to face him and envelop him in a hug. "Cam, I can't believe it's you! Why didn't you tell me you were joining us for this assignment?"

Cam returned my hug before releasing me, a grin lighting up all of his features. "Just got the orders from Agent Hand today...and it looks like I'll be joining your team."

"Really? That's great! We swore as cadets we'd get to work together someday; I guess this is it."

"Yes, well, I still need to be briefed. How long until we take off?"

"Jet leaves in ten. Come on, I'll brief you." I motioned him onto the thin ramp and took the steps two at a time into the plane. From the outside it might have looked like a smaller version of a commercial airplane, but the inside had been completely redesigned to fit S.H.I.E.L.D.'s needs. The forward-facing seats now lined the sides and there were only eight of them, four on each side. Just past the seats were metal doors, currently closed, that separated the pilot from the rest of the cabin. To our right was my workstation with a computer and a laptop each hooked into S.H.I.E.L.D.'s personal wireless data stream. High-speed internet anywhere but the North and South poles. There were no personal items of mine on the desk because we'd have to give the plane back as soon as the mission was completed, and I didn't want to forget anything. Rumor was the plane mechanics held a not-for-charity auction for the higher-ups with the stuff left behind every month or so. Not exactly where I wanted my beaten but well-loved copy of _Eragon_ or the picture frame of my adoptive family to end up.

I gestured for Cam to take a seat at my station and I tugged a transparent glass screen down from inside the wall. With a click of the mouse it lit up and I began my presentation. "The Rising Tide," I said as their logo flashed on the screen. "You probably are aware of them, but I'll give you the rundown anyway. Top secret, mostly anonymous hacker-anarchist group dedicated to the free dissemination of all information. They have been responsible for leaking footage of the Battle of New York, Stark, Thor, and several other Avengers. It appears exposing the existence of individuals with superhuman abilities or powers has become their newest project."

"Stark," Cam interrupted. "Only people who know Iron Man call him by his real name after New York. Have you met him? Because if you had, you know, tell me you got an autograph!"

I laughed. "Sorry, never met him. But I'm an analyst—it's my job to know people by their true identity, not just their superhero moniker. Anyway, since the Rising Tide are located nearly exclusively online, it is almost impossible to locate more than one of their followers at a time, as they are spread thin all over the world. All that S.H.I.E.L.D. has been able to discern are a few names at the top of their organization, and we have no way to tell if the names are faked anyway." Three pictures appeared on the screen and Cam studied them attentively. "Miles Lydon, Kurt Maxwell, and Skye."

"Skye? No last name?"

"There's a rumor among analysts that Skye works for S.H.I.E.L.D. now, although if it's true exactly what she does or where she's stationed is well above all of our pay grades."

"So if they're impossible to locate, what's the mission?"

"I said, almost impossible. It seems one of our high level analysts has back-traced the server location of one of their website affiliates. It's a complex in Madrid."

Cam smiled. "España. I guess I'd better brush up on my Spanish. So what is it, get-in, sabotage, get-out? What do you need a chemist for?"

"It's a bit more complicated than that. We have reason to believe this facility houses some remains of one of the Leviathan corpses from the Battle of New York. According to our intel, researchers at this facility are planning to publicize their findings worldwide with the help of the Rising Tide. The Rising Tide is scheduled to do their filming and whatnot for posting tomorrow at two. The last thing S.H.I.E.L.D. needs is more footage released on the web of those creatures. It could start a mass panic. Another one. So it's more of a get-in, steal the remains, destroy the evidence, and get-out situation. You've done research on the Leviathan species, so you'll go in with the rest of the team. Everything we can do will be done to not compromise the remains, but as always it's protect S.H.I.E.L.D.'s interests before gaining more research material." Cam nodded his understanding.

More than one set of footsteps interrupted us at that moment as the rest of the team trooped inside. The metal doors separating us from the cockpit slid open and Mathis looked out. "Wheels up in two." He narrowed his eyes at Cam. "This the new guy?"

"Yes, sir," I answered. "Agent Cameron Hunt, meet the team commander, Clark Mathis."

"What's his clearance level?" Mathis asked without further courtesies.

"Three," Cam replied cautiously. "This is my first assignment working with a team. A team of agents other than other scientists, I mean," he clarified. He was frowning slightly as the brusque treatment, but it didn't faze me. With Mathis, you got used to it quick.

"Great, going in with a rookie. Everyone strap in." Mathis disappeared again and the doors slammed shut. I frowned slightly.

"I'd say he'll warm up to you, but he's a Field Operative," said Young, a man older than me in his early-thirties. "He probably won't. Not until you've been vetted." Agent Young stepped toward the two of us and held out his hand to Cam. "Mitchell Young, Weapons Specialist Level 6."

"Pleasure," Cam replied.

Young pointed to each of the team members behind him, first to the woman with her brown hair in a messy bun. She had small brown eyes and a friendly smile, when it showed. "Aid Mendel."

"Adrianna," she corrected firmly, but by virtue of size it was obvious who held the power.

Young pretended he didn't hear her. "Medical." He gestured next to the even younger woman with dirty blonde hair in a braid, who stood up straight like she was in the army when he pointed to her. "Lauren Davis, Cadet Specialist. I'm her SO for another month until she returns to the Academy for examinations."

"Pleased to meet you," Cadet Davis murmured, locking eyes with Cam. She dropped her gaze, though, as Young shot her a warning look.

Young glanced around at us all. "You heard the man. Seatbelts. Now."

"Yes, sir," Davis replied automatically, dropping into the nearest seat hard enough to smash an egg. Young claimed the chair next to her and I sat across from him, reaching over my shoulder to pull the x-strap over my chest. Cam sat uncertainly next to me, fingering his S.H.I.E.L.D. badge before stuffing it back in his jacket.

"Is Mathis always like that?" he whispered to me. "And Young too."

"It's the Academy of Operations in them. Teamwork, but no attachments. No inter-team romances is S.H.I.E.L.D. policy, but the agents coming out of that Academy take it to a whole new level. Friendships are even frowned upon. No distractions. Only orders."

"My old commander, Agent Marburg, wasn't like that. We had a pretty good rapport."

"It's a lot different now with the new Academy Director, a long time friend of Mathis's. A lot more…hostile a place. You were there for a little while. You remember."

"Remember the incessant shouting of orders and the constant marching in lines? How could I forget? Except for you guys of course, I was pretty anxious to get out of there."

"Having spent my first years as a cadet there, I understand where Young is coming from," I told him. "Mathis is just that kind of guy. But once they warm up to you, you'll be part of the team."

"Like 'Aid' is part of the team?"

I pursed my lips. "Just don't stir up trouble. A few missions from now, you'll be glad they're on your side. They're good. And they'd give their lives to protect any one of us. We all would, for each other. That's what it means to be a team."

"You'd give your life for that...them?"

"Stay out of their way, and you'll be fine. Bonds form during times of mortal duress, bonds inexplicable to any who haven't experienced it. You've never been in combat; you don't understand. But you will. It's like Young said—you haven't been vetted yet. Everything'll work out." Cam sat back in his chair reluctantly but said nothing more on the subject. I forced myself to relieve muscles I hadn't even noticed were clenchedwuth a shift in position, knowing he should've trusted me on this. I had worked with this team for nigh on two years now, and though it might have looked like a hostile working environment from the start, it was by no means dysfunctional. Quite the opposite, in fact.

"Chaev, start the projection, please," Young requested. I clicked the on button and a spinning disc, projected from overhead, appeared on the floor. "Hunt, less chatting before an assignment next time. The rest of us need time to think strategy, even if you don't."

"He says 'please' to you, but I bet that's just because you're the same clearance level," Cam whispered vengefully, but I studiously ignored him as the floor plans manifested on the jet's grated floor.

Young pointed at the map. "That's where the jet's going to touch down, private field that happens to be right next to the Rising Tide complex. Chaev, you're working it from here with Mendel standing by—we'll all be linked in with comms. We're going to enter the grounds through this gate here—" He tapped the map again. "—with this." He held up an orange security pass. "Once we reach these stairs, we'll fan out. Davis, you're with me; Hunt, you'll go with Mathis." Young affixed him with a cold stare. "Follow his directions to the letter. Mathis and Hunt will be looking for the Leviathan remains while Davis and I locate their server room. We'll set the charges according to Chaev's instructions over the comms and wait for the signal from Mathis to set them off." He shifted his gaze to me. "Chaev, you'll be directing us in there. Floor plans, everything you got. Hand didn't see fit to assign us a hacker to blind them as much as I'd like, so we'll be running in and out quick as we can."

"Why didn't she?" Cam asked.

"Don't question a higher-ranked agent," Young snapped. "That's the first thing you're going to learn on this team, Hunt."

To my surprise, Davis spoke up. "Sir, if I may ask…what strategic purpose does withholding a hacking-capable operative have for this assignment?"

"With the imminent arrangement between the Rising Tide and these researchers, it's doubtful any of our hackers could hope to take on a facility like this—computers are the Rising Tide's trade," Young answered in a clipped voice. "That's what we're counting on—that they won't be nearly as prepared for a physical strike."

"What about someone who was ex-Rising Tide?" Cam questioned, glancing at me for confirmation. "Surely someone like that could handle a complex like this. After all, she was one of them."

"S.H.I.E.L.D. doesn't have an asset like that. Rising Tide members don't generally pass background checks."

"But the rumors..."

"We don't operate on rumors, Hunt. Just orders. We complete them. It's as simple as that," Young replied, tight-lipped. "Besides, someone like that would be a conflict of interest. A liability. Now, are there any questions pertaining to the actual mission, instead of poking every hole you can in it? Agents higher level than all of you have designed it. They're not asking you to spell-check it, just to follow orders and complete it. Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir," Cam growled.

"Crystal," Mendel agreed.

Davis gave a sharp, affirmative nod. Young reached for the rack of weapons over his head and handed her the latest issue sonic amplified stunner model Y-60, nicknamed SASY-60 for clarity. "You used one of these before?" Young grunted at Cam, handing him his.

"Of course," Cam laid it across his leg and directed the muzzle at the ground.

My ears popped. "We're descending," I announced. A few minutes later, the wheels hit the ground with a jolt and we unbuckled as the jet coasted to a stop. Mathis emerged from the cockpit, running a hand over his short, graying hair.

"Clear?" he asked Young.

"Yes, sir," Young responded immediately.

"Then let's do a comm check." He passed out comm units to every one of us except me, as mine was already sitting comfortably on my ear. I took a seat at my station and tapped my earpiece.

"Hunt," I said, twiddling the tiny dial.

"Copy."

Click. "Young."

"Copy."

Click. "Davis."

"Copy."

Click. "Mathis."

"Copy."

Click. "All units."

"Loud and clear," Mathis replied, and the other three confirmed. "Team, move out. Quarter mile to the complex." The four of them trooped out the stairwell into the bright sunlight, leaving Aid and me alone.

* * *

**Until next time. **


	4. Mission in Madrid (2014)

[Mission Log:  
Location: Madrid, Spain  
21 April 2014  
18:05  
2 Days Prior to HYDRA Uprising] _

"Adrianna, keep an eye on the micro-cams," I said, pulling them up on the large screen. "Tell me if you see anything out of the ordinary. An extra pair of eyes is always a good idea."

Agent Mathis's voice comes through my comm, crisp and sharp. "We have a visual on the facility. Estimated arrival time five minutes."

"Copy that. According to the digital record of the floor plans, there should be a door on the south side of the compound that leads directly into the lab after a short stairwell. Just attach Big Brother and we'll be in business."

"Sir, I'm seeing two men on the roof and four on the ground; can you confirm?" Young asked. They must have split up.

"I'm seeing the same. This is not a guns-blazing op, so move quietly. No gunshots until you have to."

"What are you doing?" Adrianna asked, looking at my portion of the screen.

"Looking at their power usage to try to determine which lab is the most likely candidate for housing the Leviathan. Bio- scanners and all their other analysis equipment would have taken a lot of power," I answered absentmindedly. I tapped my earpiece. "Mathis? Young? Status?"

For a moment there was only a crackle of static, and then, "We're here. The guards are no longer an issue. Heading for the south door now."

Young cut in. "Chaev, I've found a security camera. I'm placing Big Brother now."

"Copy that." A few keystrokes and I was into the Rising Tide camera feed. "It looks clear from here."

"Chaev, where is that door?"

"South side according to these blueprints, but…" They're digital, I realized. Why would the greatest hackers in the world allow a digital file of blueprints on their affiliate's facility be on archive? "Try the east. The Rising Tide must have altered the blueprints to confuse us instead of deleting them altogether. They're good."

"Join their fan club some other time," growled Agent Mathis. "Okay, we've found the door. Breaching the facility now." I could see them hurry through the hallway on screen and down into the stairwell.

"There're three men inside the lab," I warned. "They look like scientists, but you never know."

"Acknowledged. Entering the—" A piercing _vvvvvvvvvvt _sound filled my ear and after a few seconds I was forced to rip the comm from it.

"What is that?" Adrianna asked worriedly.

Ignoring her, I twiddled the dial. "Mathis?" Nothing but that sound. "Young. Davis. Hunt." I looked at Adrianna. "We've lost communications."

"What do we do?"

"Figure out what went wrong." I pulled my laptop towards me. "And the feed is being looped. They know we're here and are deploying countermeasures."

"I thought you said they were hackers," Adrianna said. "Is the rest of the team actually in any danger?"

My fingers flew across the keyboard as I answered her. "Unfortunately, S.H.I.E.L.D. is their worst enemy. They believe in the free dispersion of all information, and S.H.I.E.L.D. is built on secrets. I work in communications; I would know. As Stark so eloquently put it before the Battle of New York, our secrets have secrets. No one except maybe Fury knows them all, and with the sheer enormity maybe not even him." It was clear. I couldn't access anything; I was completely shut out. Whoever was doing this—they were good. "This is hopeless; I need to contact HQ." Adrianna scooted out of the way as I reached for the phone attached to the wall.

"Agent Sitwell," the man answered on the other side. "Agent Chaev, what's your status?"

"The op's been compromised; we've lost visual. If we're going to pull out, we need extraction."

"You're not pulling out," Sitwell told me. "We've been monitoring your situation from here at the Hub, and we think we may have found a solution. Connect your computer directly into the jet's mainframe." I did as he asked. "We've got someone here at the Hub who is able to match their skills."

"Who, sir?"

"Sorry, Agent, that's classified. But we're connecting you directly to her through comms, and she'll have access to your keyboard." I snatched my earpiece up from the desk and shoved it back into my ear. After a brief popping sound, a woman's voice came through.

"Agent Chaev? Are you there?"

"I'm here."

"Okay, I'm drilling a hole through the Rising Tide's firewall. You should have cameras back in a minute. Comms are a bit trickier without the location of the scrambler, but once I'm in…" The agent they'd connected me with sounded young, and not exactly…S.H.I.E.L.D.? To have this kind of skill she had to have come out of the Academy of Communications, but I don't recognize her voice at all, even though from the age she sounds I would have sworn we graduated at around the same time. "You should have cameras back at least, Agent," she said.

"I do," I confirmed, scanning them all for any signs of my team.

"There!" Adrianna pointed at a group of four figures engaged in a shooting match against two Rising Tide members. As we watched, one Rising Tide operative hit the dust, and then the other.

"Comms back up," the woman announced. "You'll have about six minutes until they manage to find and fix the exploit I used. Good luck recovering the Leviathan, Agent Chaev. Sk—I mean, I'm out."

I tapped my earpiece. "Mathis, do you copy?"

He responded almost immediately. "Chaev, what happened?"

"They scrambled your comm signal, but we got some help from HQ to get them back up," I told him. "Have you located the Leviathan?"

"That's your job."

"There's a promising lab on the second door to your right if you continue down that hallway," I suggested.

"Breaching the interior now," Mathis responded back. "This looks like the place. Sending Young and Davis to locate the computer hard drives. Agent Hunt is starting his assessment."

Camera 009 showed me the room's interior, and I watched as the two split off from the group. "Are any of you hurt?" Adrianna asked, tapping her comm.

"Young's got a graze in the shoulder, but it can wait," growled Mathis. "Prep a medkit and stay off comms unless we need you."

"Sir?" Young's voice came in. "Their drives are now full of bullet holes. We have ours with the data on it. Rendezvous point?"

"Back at the jet," Mathis answered. "We're nearly done here."

"Copy that, sir."

Several minutes passed in which Adrianna and I watched the screen for signs of trouble. Then, "Hunt has the Leviathan remains ready for transport. Alarms have just gone off; an air pick up would not go amiss."

"Sir, neither of us is certified..." The door banged open and Young and Davis entered.

"You heard him, get us up in the air," Young directed his cadet into the cockpit.

"Yes, sir."

"We're coming, sir," Young said to Mathis. "Davis isn't exactly cleared for this, but she can get the job done." Davis glanced back at us with an uncertain countenance, but with a stern glance from her SO she slipped the headset over her ears. "It would be an easier extraction if you could get to the surface, sir."

"Yeah, we're moving," Mathis replied. Young sat down in one of the chairs and Adrianna probed his graze with a gloved hand before pulling out a tube of disinfecting and sealing foam. The engines reverberated beneath us and the jet began to move forward at an alarming rate. "Chaev, can you find us a clear stairwell?" Mathis said, jerking me back into action. "The one we came in on is occupied at the moment."

"It looks like there's another if you head out the door to the left of you and take a right. There's no one on it right now, but you'd better hurry." Onscreen Mathis and Cam started towards the exit I mentioned, Cam lugging a stiff black case. Mentally I cursed Mathis for not taking the case himself and doubling their speed, but—"Get down!" I shouted, startling Adrianna. A puff of foam missed Young's wound and began migrating slowly down his arm.

Men with guns were at the top of the stairwell. Mathis dropped immediately at my rushed warning, pulling Cam to the floor with him. Muzzle flashes abounded and I could almost hear the shots whizzing above their heads. Mathis pulled Cam down the stairs and around the corner, keeping firm grip on his jacket so he wouldn't slip down all the way to the floor below.

"Chaev, this is not a good route," my commanding officer growled in my ear. "Are there any other ways out of here? Davis, ETA?"

"Three minutes out, sir," she responded promptly.

"No, sir," I shook my head even though he couldn't see me. "There are only two men at the top of the stairwell." As I watched, Mathis unholstered his weapon and two became one. That one looked down at his fallen comrade and turned to run. "It's clear, sir, he's rabbiting." Mathis pulled Cam up and to his feet and they made it to the roof hatch.

"Strap in," Young commanded, pushing Adrianna away and leaving his wound half-sealed. "We're going to have to open the emergency exit door over the wing. I've got a rope ladder." A rope ladder? Seriously? If it wasn't new fancy weapons or interactive holographic systems, S.H.I.E.L.D. apparently was perfectly all right with going traditional. Traditional and dangerous. With a grim look Adrianna strapped on her seatbelt and Young took hold of a metal rail. I pulled a lever on my chair and its wheels retracted into metal claws. They snaked their way through the metal grating underneath my workstation and secured me in place. "I can see them," Davis reported from the cockpit. "Young, go ahead."

Her SO pushed up on the emergencies-only lever and pulled the door toward him. Air rushed into the cabin, knocking me in the chest as well as sucking it out if my lungs. I gulped like a fish out if water for a second and then, able to breathe again, caught a flash drive in midair that had been about to go flying off my desk. Knuckles white around the rail, Young used one hand to unfurl the ladder and clamp one end to the floor. The other he kicked out with his foot.

It fluttered for a moment in the open air, then suddenly grew taught as someone on the ground caught hold. The top rung strained against the clamps holding it in place, and finally Cam appeared at the opening. Young reached out his arm and the scientist grasped it, Young hauling him up and into the jet. Mathis, black case's handle clenched between his teeth, appeared a second later. As soon as he'd gotten the case on deck he spat the taste of hard plastic out into the open air and heaved himself aboard. Young shoved the door closed and the odd wind patterns in the cabin ceased. "We're good!" yelled Young, letting Mathis catch his breath. "Turn us around to the Hub." Davis called back her confirmation.

Cam dragged himself over and leaned his back up against my desk. "Have I ever mentioned...I _hate_ heights?"

"You kept your head in there and followed orders," Mathis told him, getting up from the floor. "Maybe you won't be the death of us all after all."

Cam looked to me. "Closest thing you'll get to praise," I told him before he could even ask.

"Then thank you, sir," Cam said, still trying to catch his breath. "I believe you also saved my life in that stairwell—"

"—and I'm sure I'll have to again someday soon." Mathis turned his attention away from us and into the cockpit. "I'll take over from here, Davis." She got up from the pilot's seat quickly, relief at being relieved written all over her face. "Touchdown at the Hub in ten hours. Three hours to recuperate before our next assignment." He glanced at all of us. "Young, get that wound looked at." He disappeared into the cockpit, the doors shutting behind him.


	5. Lockdown (2014)

[Main Log:  
Location: The Hub  
22 April 2014  
5:05  
1 Day Prior to HYDRA Uprising] _

"Please wait for docking procedures, Agent Mathis," a computerized voice sounded through the cabin. "Strip 3 is ready for you. Remember to disembark with all your personal items, as your jet will be restocked and reassigned immediately. Please report immediately to the security checkpoints directly inside."

We all stood as soon as the jet's landing gear touched the pavement, glancing around for any missed objects. "The local time is five hundred hours. Thank you for your cooperation. Welcome to back to the Hub."

After a few more seconds the jet came to a complete halt, and Mathis emerged from the front. Young pulled the door open and crews on the ground pushed steel stairs up to the opening. Young exited first, followed closely by Davis, Adrianna, and Mathis. I was the last one out, carrying my laptop under one arm with my flash drive stowed safely in my pocket. Once inside the glass doors we were stopped by a barrage of security men in full armor. Mathis stepped up first, handing over his S.H.I.E.L.D. credentials. The woman behind the desk scanned his ID card, waiting for the results to pop up on her screen. "Welcome back, Agent Mathis. You are..." she squinted at the monitor. "You are cleared to carry your weapon inside, and Agent Hand wants you for a mission debrief before your next departure."

Mathis stepped forward into the facility, and Young followed with me after him. The woman cleared both of us to keep our sidearms as well and reminded us of the mission report due by the next morning. "Agent Chaev, you'll remain here for the next week before rejoining your team," the woman reminded me.

After wishing my team luck, I left them and made straight for my quarters, looking forward to relaxing. Since my stint at the Academy of Operations, there were only a few places I could really let my guard down, but my room in the Hub—with its closed-in, seven by seven foot space—was one of the best. Along with the lock on the door that would only let agents of a higher level than me inside without permission and only in an emergency, and there were very few of those. Agents, not emergencies. Those were quite common, actually. Mostly minor. One time we had had to evacuate the top three levels because of an accident with toxic spores in one of the science labs. _That_ was a fun couple of days.

I reclined on my bed after shedding my jacket and placing my badge and ID on the shelf. Tapping the screen on the wall, it came to life, showing me my messages and open projects. I had two new messages, one from S.H.I.E.L.D. itself and one from from Victoria Hand.

The first simply stated that my salary for the month of March had been added to my account, some $4500 after taxes.

Opening the second curiously, I perused the length of it quickly before returning to the top and reading it for real.

_Aleksandra -_

_Welcome back from Spain. I hope everything went smoothly and that you are settling back into the Hub comfortably._

_Meet me in the Communications sector tomorrow at 08:00._

_Victoria Hand_

Making a mental note of that, I opened my laptop and flipped over so that I could type somewhat accurately. The mission report template was always the same, with the participating agents and known civilians or enemy operatives involved at the top. I filled in as much of it as I could from memory, and then swiped the screen to send it to Mathis for any comments and his sign-off. I knew it would probably take him at least another hour to get it back to me since he was stuck giving his own oral report to some of the higher-ups, so I picked up my badge and left the rest of my stuff in my room to wander the halls of the Hub. Perhaps I'd end up at the gym or the dining area.

The first thing I noticed as I stepped out was that the hallway in residences was uncharacteristically quiet. The second, that no one seemed to be around. Usually there would be agents coming and going at all hours of the day or night, as missions ran regardless of the time, but the place was borderline deserted. Adrenaline spiked and spidey sense tingling, I set off down the corridor toward one of the main, more populous halls.

The Hub was one of three large S.H.I.E.L.D. bases I'd been to, and it was a place of whitewashed walls and glass doors. It always had a bustle of activity, with constant missions and debriefs going on. It had no prominent medical facility, but was composed of a few floors of residences and many for composing and running ops. Lit S.H.I.E.L.D. logos of a friendly blue were everywhere, and the entire atmosphere was a mix of camaraderie and purpose. Nearly every agent had been here at least once, as "the Hub" was not an arbitrary name. It was a center of communication, operations, and research.

When I arrived at the main hallway for this sector, S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were plastered all over the glass doors, peering inside. Higher levels with a little more breathing room in the restricted access areas were plastered to the screens. I made my way through the throng to the door and placed my hand on the scanner, allowing me inside. I tilted my head upwards to view the footage. Was that...Steve Rogers? A fugitive? There was a fantastic montage of the man attacking other agents following it as well as a report on the disappearance of Director Fury. Every agent present watched the car flip and blow up, and then again in slow motion. No one seemed to know what to say.

Director Fury, dead? That in it of itself was difficult to believe. Captain America involved in the attack? Even more so.

My phone buzzed vehemently in my pocket, and I pulled it out to find Agent Hand's caller ID. Answering it with a swipe of my finger across cool glass, I said, "Chaev. What the hell is going on?"

"Communications. Now," she told me curtly. The line clicked dead in my hand. I immediately set off for her command station with a slight tenseness in my step. If there were any answers to be had, they would be located there.

I arrived in Communications with an accelerated heartbeat, pounding in my chest that had nothing to do with my near-jog here. Fury. Dead. What did that mean for S.H.I.E.L.D.?

"Agent Chaev," Hand greeted me. Normally curt, objective, and by-the-book, the look in her eyes frightened me. "We're monitoring the situation more closely from here. It's all going down at the Triskelion." She gestured me inside the glass doors.

"I'm not cleared to be here," I told her, frowning.

She slapped a new ID card into my hand. "Welcome to Level 7," said my former SO. "I pushed the paperwork through weeks ago; I was going to promote you tomorrow morning, but I want everyone I can get on this now."

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, following her inside.

"This is as much as we know from communicating with Agent Sitwell, who's in charge of ops and intelligence there," she said without further ado. "Fury's dead and we can't get into contact with anyone else at the Triskelion. Agent Sitwell disappeared sometime around sixteen hundred hours, and even their cameras are whited out. We have no eyes in there, but our S.H.I.E.L.D. satellites are still online." She gestured to the screen, where we had an aerial view of the building still standing. "It doesn't look like the base is externally compromised; there's no visual damage to it. Under Fury's protocols for this situation, we have to consider the possibility of an inside job."

"Like from Steve Rogers?"

"Our intelligence suggests he's been set up. At this time, we do not believe Captain America or Natasha Romanoff to be involved, nor any of the other Avengers who are inactive from S.H.I.E.L.D. at the moment. At our request Stark has been doing some external reconnaissance, but he says everything seems to be working like normal."

"Except, there's no communication with the rest of S.H.I.E.L.D.," I nodded my understanding. Agent Hand opened her mouth to say something else, but a flash of white on every screen we had caught our attention. Gray static filled them. Hand slapped a hand onto her ear and dug her earpiece out of it. We could all hear the high-pitched shriek admitted, even from a few feet away.

"What happened?" Hand demanded from the analysts seated there.

"Ma'am, it appears signal across all S.H.I.E.L.D. bands has been interrupted," a man in the front row answered.

"Can you get it back?"

"I'm trying, ma'am."

Hand snapped up towards the security men lining the doors of the room. "Johnson, I need you to pull the main television line. And seal this room, no one goes in or out." She picked up an old style radio from the desk, tuned it, and tossed it to him. "Outfit the men you trust with these."

"Yes, ma'am!" He barked orders at his men, who took positions outside the glass doors. Hand hit a button on the inside and they slammed shut.

"Ma'am, I suggest a full system reboot to get at least a few computers off the network and operational again," one of her underlings said. Hand nodded and relayed the new instructions through the radio.

"Cut power to the entire base, but leave auxiliary alone." That would plunge us into darkness for at least a few seconds before the emergency lighting kicked in, but wouldn't affect any of the more sensitive areas that needed to stay under lockdown.

Tense minutes crept by until finally the overhead lights and the computer screen shut off, leaving only the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo etched into the glass and lit with a soft blue light underneath online. A second later, that disappeared too. "Kalua, Lee, Tanner: disconnect your machines. When the power's restored, Kalua, I want whatever news station's been covering all this, Lee, an analysis on the signal, Tanner, I want you to find me a S.H.I.E.L.D. channel that hasn't been compromised. It doesn't matter how far back you have to go, even if it's 1945." She lifted her handheld radio to her lips. "Johnson, now the TV mainline, and then restore power."

Lights came back to life, flooding our eyes with an abundance of what could only be called liquid brightness. Hand seemed to recover first and immediately strode over to where Kalua, Lee, and Tanner were sequestered. The informed voice of a news reporter soon filled the small, glass-enclosed room, mixing with static as Tanner sifted through the signal frequencies.

"I am coming to you live at the scene of the crash, where there are rumors of Captain America being involved. It is confirmed that Nick Fury, the director of the international protection agency S.H.I.E.L.D. was inside the car at the time of the crash. Behind me, S.H.I.E.L.D. is currently undergoing their own investigation, but here I have Fury's second-in-command, Agent Maria Hill of S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent Hill, what can you tell us about this incident?"

"Director Fury was indeed inside the car, and his remains and the vehicle are being examined as we speak. Director Fury is dead." Ash-streaked and harrowed-looking, Hill looked more fit to be in a war zone than on national—and soon to be international, for sure—television.

"Are there any current suspects as to who could have orchestrated the attack?"

"I'm not at liberty to talk about the investigation at this time, but we will find who did this and exact justice."

"Now that Director Fury is dead, will you, his second-in-command, take over S.H.I.E.L.D.'s operations?"

"Right now we're not focusing on the politics of it. For this instant, yes, I am in control, but who takes over once things have calmed down will of course be decided by the Council. Now excuse me, I have to—" Agent Hill walked away from the reporter and towards the crash site. The reporter faced back toward the camera and opened her mouth to address it directly again.

"Ma'am, I think I've managed to ascertain the nature of the signal," Lee interrupted.

"Can you pinpoint where it's coming from?"

"...No. But I do know that it's not blocking our signals, just mixing them with so much other data that when they arrive no one can decipher the original message."

"What kind of data are they using?" Hand asked, leaning over his computer. Green zeroes and ones were filtering downward in one window, while the other contained seemingly random lines of letters and numbers.

"It seems to be the same code interspersed randomly throughout the signal. I can have the computer try to analyze it using all the known algorithms, but—"

"Do it."

"Yes, ma'am." The clack of keys filled the surrounding space, and then a small progress bar appeared.

"What have you got for me, Tanner?" Hand asked, moving onto the next computer.

"Nothing yet. It's the same on every channel, and based on what Lee said about it we won't be able to clean up anything from here. We'd have to devise a specific program to do it and install on the receiving end. And, of course, if we wanted a reply back, on our end as well. I would recommend an outgoing flight to the Fridge, Sandbox, Tri—"

"No outgoing flights," Hand ordered. "Not when we don't know what the hell is going on out there. In here, we're secure. How many years back have you scanned?"

"All the way to 1989 so far, and nothing yet." My SO and I exchanged a tense glance.

"Agent Hand," said Lee, "it's almost finished decoding." The other analysts slowly rose from their chairs to cluster around his monitor with us. Letter cycled on the screen faster than anyone can read, but slowly recognizable words formed.

"That's 'out' and 'light,'" Lee murmured. "Could it be a distress call of some kind?"

"It's not a distress call," I told him, reality sinking through me like icy water as more words coalesced. "Out of the darkness, into the light."

"HYDRA," Hand breathed as the final letters snapped into place. "They're responsible for this. They killed Nick Fury. They're hiding within S.H.I.E.L.D."

Everyone was silent, staring at each other. Wondering who would make the first move, and if you did whether it would be construed by the five armed agents surrounding you as an act of aggression. Finally it was Agent Hand who spoke first. "Weapons on the table, everyone, now." She did not relinquish her own, but gestured for the armed guards to follow her orders. I slowly removed mine from its holster strapped to my boot and set it down with a dull thunk.

"How do we know who's HYDRA and who's not?" I asked.

"We don't know," Hand said, gaze flicking from the faces of each person in the room. "All I know is I'm not." She looked at me. "I trust you, Aleksandra. You're not HYDRA either." I shook my head in agreement.

"Well...I'm not either…" Kalua raised her hand, like a child in school. "What about the rest of us?"

"You'll have to leave," Hand decided. "Some of you—many of you—are loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D. and nothing else, but we can't afford a traitor among us in the nerve center of this facility." Several of the eight analysts were now regarding her with something akin to fear. "You'll each have your chance to prove your loyalties. You will all exit this room, and you carry out my orders with the agents outside. First, you're not to tell anyone what you've seen here, and you're to stop and apprehend anyone trying to turn the communications back on. It's clear now that that was an activation signal, and we have to keep it from getting out. Second, I believe there are four other Level 7 agents on this base, and twelve Level 6. Inform them of what's going on here if you come across them, but don't tell them to come down here. Clearance level is no indicator of loyalty."

"Yes, ma'am," the analysts murmured.

Hand turned to the five armed guards. "When you leave, you'll take your weapons. Find comrades you trust and help escort the analysts around. Suspicious behavior, apprehend immediately. We can sort out who's guilty or innocent later, but I need this facility locked down, and I need people running it on whom I can count." She glanced at me. "Trust no one besides myself and Agent Chaev. Go."

The analysts hurried got up from their chairs and left, leaving Hand and I alone in the room. I reached to retrieve my weapon but her hand caught my wrist. "Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not HYDRA," Hand demanded.

I met her dark brown eyes with mine. "I'm not HYDRA."

She sighed. "I'm not either." She allowed herself a pause. "How could we miss it for so long, allow them to seed themselves among us? How did we not notice?"

I pursed my lips, the enormity of the situation pressing down on us from all sides. "I don't know."

"Is there anyone outside this room that you would trust with your life, given what we know now?"

"No one I can be absolutely sure of besides my team, and they're already in the air again. What about ongoing missions? What if they manage to decode the signal as well?"

"We should recall all of them. And..." She paused, dark thoughts clouding her eyes. "I might know who could have orchestrated this. Phil Coulson."

I stared at her like she was crazy. "Agent Coulson's dead; he died in the Battle of New York."

"He was revived," Hand answered. "He's taken one of our mobile command units and formed his own hand-picked team for ops. They've been chasing down a man called the Clairvoyant for the last few months, but two weeks ago he thought he'd found him. When the teams went in to apprehend him, Coulson's man Ward shot him before we could learn anything about his operation." She sighed. "It makes a lot of sense now. There's no such thing as the Clairvoyant; it was a distraction Coulson fed us so we wouldn't notice what else he was doing. His entire team must be in on it." She sat down in Lee's vacated seat and started typing. "It's why Agent May survived but Deathlok killed Agent Blake. I didn't think Coulson could do this, but..."

"Agent Melinda May? Victoria, no, she can't be a part of this."

"Why?" Hand affixed me with an iron gaze. "How do you know her?"

"It's...it's classified." She stared at me a second more before turning her attention to the computer. "That's the first and last time you ever get to say that to me, Chaev."

I smiled in spite of myself. "Yes, ma'am. But the Cavalry? She has to be loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D."

"Well, I'm tractor-beaming their plane back to the Hub. Thank God emergency flight controls haven't been interfered with. They should arrive in two hours. If Agent May is loyal, then she'll come over to our side easily. If she causes any trouble, we'll know you were wrong."

"Agreed. What about the other airships?"

"I'm recalling them all now. Except...except Agent Garrett's. He was on the mission with Coulson and he was Ward's SO. We can't afford him getting to a safe house and sabotaging our systems. We have to eliminate the threat."

I nodded my assent uneasily. "What about the Hub itself? Shouldn't we go to lockdown, get everyone back in their quarters?"

"Yes, that's a good idea. I'll need your access code as well as mine. It's fortunate you're Level 7." As she typed in her ten-character passcode, white dots appeared in the square boxes and her section lit up green as soon as she had finished, and she gestured for me to proceed. _Lockdown initiated _blinked the screen, and a moment later an automated voice came over the hidden intercom in the walls.

"The Hub is now in Lockdown. All agents please return to your quarters for further instructions. Guests and consultants head to reception for the assignment of temporary living spaces. All upcoming missions have been cancelled. The Hub is now in Lockdown…"

"What else do we have on Coulson and his team? If he's HYDRA, then we have to suspect anyone he's in close contact with. Do you have clearance to pull up his file? And Garrett's as well?" I suggested.

"His file's been highly redacted," Hand told me, "but it should still be able to tell us what we need to know. Everything around New York has been scrubbed, but before and after are relatively intact. Look there," she pointed. "One of his team members is here, at the Hub right now. Agent Jemma Simmons, Level 5, biochem."

"And Garrett's old cadet, Antoine Triplett," I said. "Odd coincidence, that they're both here together when Coulson and Garrett have parted ways with their supposed 'Clairvoyant' dead."

"Johnson," Hand said into her radio. "Do you copy?"

"Loud and clear, ma'am. Do you have further orders for me?"

"Yes, I need you to assist in enforcing Lockdown. There are also two agents with a high security risk on our base, and I need you to locate and apprehend them. Jemma Simmons and Antoine Triplett." There was no response. "Johnson?"

He crackled in with a hushed voice. "Gun fire, Hand, in the corridor. HYDRA is in the base. I can't tell who did it, but we have...seven agents down. All dead."

Hand's eyes flared. "Gather your troops and meet me back here. We need to regroup. This base must not fall into HYDRA hands."

"Copy that. ETA five minutes."

Hand nearly slammed the radio down on the desk. "How're we supposed to tell who's HYDRA and who's not?" I asked.

"That part's simple," Hand growled. "We become the enemy."


	6. Turn, Turn, Turn (2014)

**Hope you all got a chance to see that epic Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. episode tonight. If not, don't worry, no spoilers here. But even from last episode, I just have to say, I trust Bobbi. Maybe I shouldn't, but I trust her. Her heart's in the right place.**

[Main Log:  
Location: The Hub  
22 April 2014  
23:49  
1 Day Prior to HYDRA Uprising] _

"Hail HYDRA," I uttered reluctantly along with our group of four. Hand nodded, pulling open a drawer and distributing handguns to everyone here.

"That's right. We're HYDRA. Join or die. It's time we increased the circle of people we trust. Johnson, what's the status of Lockdown?"

"Teams of armed security are stationed throughout the base. We have not yet located Triplett or Simmons, but they were not residents here. It's possible they're still standing in line at reception."

"Well, have your men go check. Otherwise, I'm pulling up the power usage data and we'll locate agents breaking Lockdown that way. Lights are motion-activated; it should help your men complete their sweep more safely by locating high priority rooms quickly."

"Yes, ma'am. I'll head down there and coordinate." Hand nodded, watching him go with hawk-like eyes.

"Ma'am, this is Agent Finley from base security. S.H.I.E.L.D. 616 is currently landing on pad three," a female agent said through the radio. "What are your orders?"

"Send a strike team," Hand said, glancing at me. "Tell them to execute protocol Medusa."

"Agent Hand, what in the bloody hell is going on?" another man stepped up to the glass, rapping sharply on it with his knuckles. His voice was muffled by the barrier, and he had to shout to make himself heard.

Hand immediately hit the button to open the door, relief showing on her face. "Marks, you're late," she said, but with minimal hostility.

"Yes, I had to fight my way through mobs of people scurrying around to get here," Marks replied. "And men in full tactical gear decided to point their guns in my face. I reiterate, what in the bloody hell is going on here?"

Hand summed up our situation in a few short sentences before asking, "Are there any other Level Eights in the Hub besides you and me?"

"Not that I know of, no," Marks answered. "Garrett's flying his plane on that solo mission, Coulson's up with his team on S.H.I.E.L.D. 616, Kutrosky's been in talks with the Maltese government for weeks, and Johal's undercover in N...on Project B.R.I.N.K." He glanced around at the rest of us . From his expression, we were far from having clearance to know what B.R.I.N.K. was. "As you said, Commander Hill and Director Fury are at the Triskelion. We're the highest-ranking agents here."

"Anyone you trust implicitly you want to bring into the fold?" Hand asked. "Every other agent is a potential traitor and must be treated as such."

"Just Agent Alvarez. I trained her; I know she's not HYDRA."

"Contact her, tell her to meet us here. No one else. This is the center of command for now."

The radio in Hand's grip fizzed and then spoke."Hand, do you copy? We think we've located Triplett and Simmons. They've locked themselves in a lab together."

"Copy that, we'll meet you down there." Hand signaled Marks, a gun-toting agent labeled as Jacobson, and me to follow her, leaving instructions to hold their positions until we got back. "Start amassing a list of analysts we trust. I want a full team up here soon."

It was eerie, to say the least, walking down hallways of the Hub that were usually bustling with agents. Every thump of Marks's boots, click of Hand's heels, and patter of my own shoes echoed before fading into oblivion, and no one seemed inclined to say anything.

Something whizzed past my ear, and I stopped dead. There was a ping in the wall behind me and I shoved Hand and Marks forward, shouting a warning. "Bullets!" Momentum carried me forward until my forehead smacked against the wall, dazing me for a few seconds while my fingers struggled to pull my gun from its holster on my calf. Pushing myself up with one arm, I held the weapon out in front of me with the other, eyes scanning for a target.

Two loud gunshots rang out and a figure in black slumped to the ground, gun with a silencer slipping out of his grasp and clattering to the floor. Marks stood from his kneeling position before checking the man he'd shot for a pulse. Hand proffered me her forearm and pulled me to my feet. There was steel in her eyes that I hadn't seen before.

"He's dead," Marks announced. "That was close." He fished down into the former agent's pocket and extracted their SHIELD ID case, stuffing it in his own. "They'll need to be shredded and demagnetized," he explained his actions, though no one needed him to.

"Let's keep moving," Hand ordered. "But keep more alert. We don't know how many HYDRA are in the facility, and the two of us are probably their main targets."

We kept moving, a little more quickly this time, but came across no other hostile forces. Johnson greeted us with relief as we approached. "My men have been encountering small pockets of resistance throughout the base," he told us. "The sooner we can initiate full security procedures the sooner we all become a hell of a lot safer."

"As long as your security isn't laced with HYDRA as well," I reminded him.

"It's a chance we'll have to take. There's no way the HYDRA sleeper agents outnumber the loyal SHIELD agents.," Johnson said.

"The element of surprise can be a game changer," Marks countered.

"Once we have Triplett and Simmons, go ahead and bring in the troops," Hand decided. "Maintain lockdown and apprehend anyone breaking it." She gestured towards the closed door in front of us. "You remember the plan?"

"How could I forget?" I asked, nodding. Johnson slapped a charge on the door, motioning for us all to step back a step. It sizzled and then the door banged open, revealing an African-American agent and a short brunette staring at us with fear. Well, at least she was. He was harder to read.

Hand signaled me to shut the door behind us and then turned back to Simmons and Triplett, pulling out a rolling chair to sit on as she addressed them. The seated position worked for her, made all of this seem...easy. "The rest of your possibly very short lives hinges on this moment," she told them. "HYDRA has successfully infiltrated S.H.I.E.L.D. at the highest level. It only took seven decades, and today is our coming-out party." Simmons, if possible, became even paler, hands clasped behind her back. Triplett shifted his feet, hands also hidden with whatever weapon he would try to use. My fingers twitched towards my sidearm. "We have the support of the level-9 and level-10 agents," Hand continued in a self-satisfied tone, "and those who have resisted HYDRA have been crossed off...Director Fury included." Simmons' eyes widened, and Triplett's jaw locked. Either they were loyal, or well-trained in acting. Which, with HYDRA, was entirely possible. "I'm here to offer you a choice, and a simple one at that." She stared them both down. "Either swear unwavering loyalty to HYDRA right now for all time...or share Fury's fate." We all raised our guns, pointing them at their chests. Mine leveled off right at the base of Simmons' throat. She didn't look like much, but looks could be deceiving. HYDRA was all about the deception.

Hand left that hanging for a second, then added, "I won't wait long." Silence reigned. Then Triplett acted, grabbing Johnson's gun and slugging Marks in the face. Simmons tossed him a small knife and he directed it at Johnson's throat, locking him in with one arm. "Cross us off... and one of you goes, too," Triplett promised.

"Right answer," Hand replied, standing from her chair. She wore the closest to a smile I'd seen all day. "The number of people I trust is now seven." She turned to Jacobson. "Where are we on the roundup?"

"We're moving all agents below level five to East holding," he answered."Too many were asking questions they shouldn't and escaping into the hallways. I have men monitoring microphones placed in most of the rooms."

"And our strike team?"

"Has stormed the plane, yes."

"That was a...a test?" Simmons asked,  
beginning to relax her stance.

"That very few have passed," Hand affirmed.

Triplett let out a sigh. "I thought we were dead."

"You're not HYDRA. Thank God," Simmons breathed.

"Well, don't celebrate just yet," Hand told her grimly. "We may not be Hydra, but your friend Coulson—he is."

"But…! I don't—"

"Chaev, return with me, Simmons, Triplett, and Marks to communications. Johnson, continue locking down the facility as you see fit. Desperate times call for desperate measures, and innocent until proven guilty is no longer applicable. I want more men in the hallways; gather up the analysts and have them monitoring all the feeds."

"Yes, ma'am," Johnson nodded. Hand strode out of the room and I followed with Triplett and Simmons murmuring behind me and Marks bringing up the rear.

"Hey, sorry about that," I heard Triplett say.

"It was an apt reaction; I'll allow it," Marks grunted. "I've gotten a lot worse from a lot smaller."

When we entered temporary central command no one wasted time with pleasantries, whether from the pursed lips on Hand's face or the shiner quickly developing on Marks's. "What?" she demanded from an operative with S.H.I.E.L.D. patches on his jacket.

"We've searched the plane, ma'am, there's no sign of them. They were on board when it landed. We're tearing this plane apart—they must have snuck off somehow."

"Check the tunnels. I want two squads posted on every corner; coordinate that with Agent Johnson. Capture who you can, but you have permission to use lethal force."

"Yes, ma'am." He stepped away and out of the room, barking out orders to the men standing outside of it.

"You were right," Hand said to Marks. "We should have blown that plane out of the sky."

"Are you mad?" Simmons broke in from behind us. "How can you be saying this?"

Victoria didn't blink twice. "HYDRA won't show mercy. Neither can we."

"There is no way Coulson is HYDRA!" Simmons exclaimed, stepping forward. Passion, desperation, and indignation exploded from her every English-accentuated word. "He is a good man, a friend!"

"He's a liar!" Hand spit back. Simmons deflated slightly, just staring at her with forlorn eyes. Victoria modulated her voice, returning to an even tone. "Agent Blake came to me with his suspicions—that Coulson and the other level eights were involved in some sort of conspiracy. Then Coulson sent him on an op that put him in the ICU."

"Coulson is not capable of what you're insinuating," the young agent insisted.

"Agent Jacobson, Coulson's crimes?" Hand asked, not even turning to look at him. The look in her eyes was resigned.

"Recruiting known enemies of S.H.I.E.L.D., disobeying a direct order multiple counts, violation of international law…"

"To rescue our beloved Professor Hall, who ended up dead by his hand," Victoria added.

"...failure to report the crimes of his protege, Akela Amador..."

"Whose same technology somehow ended up in the head of Mr. Peterson, and you know his crimes."

"You helped us save Coulson from the Clairvoyant," Simmons pointed out, shaking her head.

"Yet when we found this brain-dead Clairvoyant, Coulson's man Ward shot him before we could learn a single thing about him. The lies add up, Agent Simmons. Are you telling me he's never kept a secret from you? The worst thing you can do right now is to underestimate HYDRA. They hide in plain sight. They earn our trust, our sympathy. They make us like them. And when you hesitate, they strike. If we're to survive, we must learn to strike first." Simmons ducked her head, and Hand returned to giving orders and assessing the situation.

"I know it's hard," I said, moving closer to Agent Simmons. "But we have to accept—"

"Chaev, we need you over here," Jacobson called, and I joined them around the computer. There were a few seated analysts in here now, all casting wary glances around at the unknown people surrounding them, most of whom carried large, formidable weapons. "Tanner here has managed to find us a comm channel that isn't being scrambled by HYDRA's coming-out message, so we're fitting all the essential personnel with comms. I've already sent someone to Johnson with his." He dropped one in my hand, and I slipped it into my ear, fiddling with it until I could barely detect its weight anymore. They outfitted Hand, Marks, and Jacobson himself with the devices as well.

"Ma'am, I've got something," a female analyst called from somewhere to my right.

"What is it?"

"It's just audio, but..."

"Quiet!" Hand shouted, and everyone in the room fell silent.

"And murder without consideration is a sure—"

"That's Coulson," Hand said grimly. Anger flashed in her eyes. So he was here. Good. That meant we were one step closer to catching the traitor.

"_Consideration_? Consider this. She had one of my men killed with a bomb rigged to his gas pedal," another man argued.

"Garrett," Victoria cursed."How did he survive?"

"The other two were floating in the hotel pool, and they weren't doing the backstroke," Garrett continued.

"But we can just as easily ice her."

"You don't put someone like her on ice.  
She had Skye shot in the stomach in the stomach because she was curious." Skye? As in ex-Rising-Tide-leader Skye? "Mike Peterson burned alive and turned into some kind of freak. She tortured _you_, using the same machine she used to brainwash that bitch in the flower dress."

Hand frowned. "I do believe they're blaming me as being the Clairvoyant."

"And right now, she's probably doing the same to Agent Simmons." All of us turned to look at the young biochemist, and she shrugged slightly. Garrett went on. "Oh, I've considered it plenty, my friend."

"No. Simmons will be fine," said a new, uncertain voice.

"Fitz!" Simmons exclaimed, lighting up. She gazed imploringly at Agent Hand. "He's not HYDRA, I _swear_. We went through the Academy together. I know he's not."

"I suppose if you turned out to be loyal, the same could be true for others in Coulson's team," Hand replied. "Jacobson, gather a squad. Make that two." She stopped for a moment, considering. "You," the addressed the analyst, "where is this coming from?"

"There," the woman pointed to a blinking red dot on the blueprints of the facility.

Hand examined the area. "That's three flights down and a lot of corridors between us and them." She hailed Johnson on the radio. "We've got a location on Coulson and Garrett." She gave him the coordinates. "Send a team, the best you have. Maybe the men Sitwell chose for promotion and reassignment to the Triskelion." She addressed Tanner. "Patch us into the audio through our earpieces. We're going down there." Jacobson and I along with about twenty men in full tactical gear followed her as she walked off down the hallway with a purposeful step.

There was a pop on my ear, and Coulson and Garrett's conversation filled it. Simmons caught up to me, and though I gave her a sideways look, I didn't stop her from coming with us. I would take Simmons out, if needed, and let the tactical army behind us deal with the two traitorous level eights.

"I'm telling you, killing her quick would be a mercy," Garrett said.

"I never said Raina had been inside the machine," Coulson whispered, making my ear strain to hear him. "I never told that to anybody."

"I must have read it in a report, then."

"You weren't with us."

"The point is, how many more have to suffer before Vic gets hers?" Anger flared in me at that statement.

"You showed up right after."

"What are you driving at?" Garrett asked, sounding genuinely dumbfounded.

"After Skye was shot. Quinn said it was so I would lead the Clairvoyant to the cure. That's exactly what I did," Coulson realized. "I walked you right in there with me."

Garrett chuckled. "Phil, look. It's been a rough day."

Hand increased her pace, nearly flying across the ground. "We got it wrong," she said. "I pegged the wrong man." She tapped her earpiece. "Johnson, put me in contact with the units sent to apprehend Coulson and Garrett."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, they weren't outfitted with comms," Johnson replied a second later. "There's no way to alter their mission."

"Damn it," Garrett said.

There was a bang, and then, "Freeze! Don't move! Hands where we can see them!" shouted the S.H.I.E.L.D. squadron.

"Easy, fellas," Garrett advised.

"Take Agent Garrett into custody. He's the murderer they call the Clairvoyant. He's a traitor," Coulson requested.

"Gentlemen, I know Agent Sitwell was in charge of filling your ranks, so at least a few of you know what to do in this situation," Garrett said. "Anytime, boys."

Shots went off, and several loud thuds followed. Of possible, Hand sped up even more. "Hail HYDRA," Garrett said.

"Hail HYDRA!" the agents shouted.

"Those three men in your unit— I guess they asked the wrong questions," Coulson murmured.

"Until today, it was all about keeping the secret."

"Are you gonna kill us?" Fitz asked, and next to me Simmons gasped.

"That wasn't my plan, really," Garrett answered. "If it was, I could have done that anytime I wanted. No, Coulson and I go way back, back to the days when Fury was teaching us tactics. Clearing corners, slicing the pie. Remember, Phil?"

"Fury would bury you for this," Coulson growled.

"Probably. Instead, he'll just have to roll over in his grave. He must have uncovered our secret. Top brass did what they had to do. Explains why we've suddenly come 'out of the shadows.' Not a minor inconvenience, I might add."

"Top brass?"

"Oh, my, yes. Tip-top. We had a good thing going, too waving the S.H.I.E.L.D. flag as hard as we could. I guess we'll be changing colors now."

"Damn him," Hand cursed, and all of us agreed.

"For HYDRA? You really believe all that crap-spreading death and destruction?" Coulson asked.

"I wouldn't say I'm a true believer. Let's just say I felt the wind changing direction and swung my sail. You really should, too."

"I would die before serving HYDRA, you sick son of a bitch," Coulson spat.

"I hate to tell you, but you've been serving HYDRA all along. I guess death is the only alternative. It's a sad thing. I consider you a friend. I was happy when I heard you'd made it through."

"So happy you had me tortured for three days to find out how they did it."

"I didn't enjoy that. Phil, t-this is me being honest."

"No, John, this is you being a psychopath," Coulson countered.

"I know you'd follow him to the grave, so..." Garrett chuckled. "As for you, Agent Fitz, you'll hold a very high rank, run our tech division if you volunteer. If not, you'll have no rank and a lot of pain. Of course, either way, your services will be required."

"You're gonna suffer for what you've done," Agent Fitz promised. "And I plan on being a very big part of that."

"Oh, Fitz..." Simmons murmured from behind me. "Don't go getting yourself hurt..."

"I like you, kid," Garrett told him. "All right. Let them have it. But shoot that one in the kneecaps."

"We're not going to get there in time!" Hand said. Sounds of a fight filled my ear, of things crashing, glass shattering, and grunts and shouts of pain.

"We're almost there," I reminded her. "That door, there!" Our protective squads swept forward in front of us, banging the doors open with their large guns raised high.

"Hands up!" they shouted, encircling Coulson and his team. Simmons ran forward and enveloped an unsteady young man in a huge hug.

"I'm not HYDRA," Coulson said to Hand.

She dipped her head. "We heard everything."

"Who is? How deep does it go?" Coulson demanded. Hand looked down, and something unspoken passed between them. He returned his eyes to the floor as well, turning and kicking a stray gun away from Garrett's body where it clattered against the wall.

"Cuff him," Hand directed our troops.

"We've got three other people in the Hub," Coulson told her.

"Agent Triplett is fine," Hand told him, "He's back in communications. I'll send him on to you."

"Also, Agent Ward and Agent Skye," Coulson said. "They're integral members of my team, I need them back unharmed."

Hand gave some terse instructions into her earpiece and then looked back up at him. "Coulson, you'll need to be briefed on the situation before you or your team go running amuck around the facility. I'll send Agent Chaev to locate your people." I nodded my obedience.

"You've seen pictures?" Coulson asked me directly.

"Yes, sir, of Agent Ward."

He pulled out his phone and tapped on it a few times. "This is Skye. They should be together somewhere near the center of the facility, heading for the generators and main circuitboards. Tell them to stand down, and that I said...that I said the Hub is no magical place. Don't mention Garrett. I need to be the one to tell him about his SO."

"Yes, sir," I answered. Simmons whispered something softly to Fitz and he nodded, reaching down to pick up his handgun from the floor. She took it from him and approached me.

"You should take this. Ward isn't exactly the trusting type," she confided. I lifted the gun from her palm, running a finger over its curious ridges before fitting my hand to the grip. "It's called an ICER," she explained. "The dendrotoxin incapacitates instead of kills."

"Thank you, Agent Simmons," I said, removing my regular handgun from its holster and conferred it to Agent Hand. The ICER fit snugly into the holster just as the old one did.

I left Hand and Coulson in the room with Fitz and Simmons, going up the stairs two at a time in the direction Coulson told me to go. Many armed men jogged past me, but none bothered me as I moved quickly along.

I could hear a scuffle in the corridor ahead, and I drew my firearm. I peeked out around the corner to see a man in his early thirties with dark hair send one of our guys through a glass window. "Freeze!" I shouted, rounding the corner and directing the muzzle of my gun at his chest.

"Skye, run!" he yelled at his companion.

"Don't move. Turn around, slowly."

He did, glancing at the girl who pressed herself up against the wall and was shaking her head profusely.

"You're Agent Ward?" I asked, recognizing him from his personnel file photo. He nodded, looking all too much like he was about to make a move any second. "Stand down. Coulson sent me." I looked at the young woman, watched them exchange a look and award shake his head ever so slightly. "You're Skye. Coulson said to tell you that the Hub is not a magical place."

Agent Ward's stance didn't even relax marginally, remaining in a position to run, fight, or jump in front of Skye. "Who are you?"

"My name's Aleksandra Chaev," I replied calmly. "I work with Agent Hand. We've got the real Clairvoyant in custody."

"We thought she was the Clairvoyant," Ward said suspiciously. "I want to talk to Coulson. Can you reach him?"

"I can try." I shifted my grip of the gun into my left hand and touched the earpiece in my ear. "Victoria, I've found Ward and Skye. They want to talk to Coulson."

"He's just been outfitted, channel six," she responded back. "They're on sublevel one, east wing. Take them there once you've gained their trust."

I adjusted the dial on my earpiece and then took it off. Making eye contact with Ward, I tossed it to him. He caught it easily, slipping it into his ear. "Sir?" He paused. "Standing in front of an Agent Chaev with her gun pointed at me. Yes, sir." He looked up at me. "You can put that down now; I believe you." He motioned to Skye, and walked towards me as I slipped my firearm back into its holster. He handed me back my earpiece. "Glad to meet you, Agent Chaev."

"Likewise," I saw, surveying the chaos they've left in the hallways behind them. "This all your doing?"

"Yeah. They were trying to kill us."

Skye raised her hand. "I hid in a closet."

"Are they all dead?"

"Most." Ward crossed over to the man he'd just put through a window. "He's alive."

"I'll send a med team," I answered. "Come on, I'll explain what's going on as we walk."

"Yeah, an explanation would be really nice," Skye said, catching up with me. "For starters, why were your guys trying to kill us?"

"HYDRA is everywhere within S.H.I.E.L.D.," I replied.

"We know, we got the party invitation on the Bus," Skye told me.

"We believed Coulson to be the Clairvoyant, and you and Garrett to be working with him."

"What about Simmons?" Skye realized. "Is she okay?"

"Agents Simmons and Triplett are fine," I informed her. "They're waiting for you with Coulson." We turned the corner into the stairwell. "The Hub is currently on lockdown as we try to weed out the HYDRA operatives among us." At the top of the stairs, we could hear the rumbling of boots.

"Who was the Clairvoyant?" Ward asked. "Whoever he was, I'm going to kill him."

"A level eight agent," I replied evasively. "And I think you'll have to get in line."

"Simmons!" Skye exclaimed, running forward and crushing her in a hug. "I'm so glad you're okay."

"It's good to see you again, sir," Ward greeted Coulson. He peered at the line of handcuffed HYDRA agents being marched past, and his expression changed. "No..." he whispered, eyes locking on Garrett.

"Traitor! TRAITOR!" Triplett yelled, fury bursting from his entire figure at their old SO.

Coulson approached Ward, speaking in a low tone and putting a hand on his arm. Ward stepped away, looking shocked, shrugging off his touch. Skye simply looked devastated.

Leaving them to their grief, I slipped away down the corridor, heading up to communications. Hand stopped talking and motioned me over as I entered, Johnson stepping back. "Aleksandra, good, you're back. Lee managed to punch through the scrambler, and we're just starting to get the first reports from the other S.H.I.E.L.D. bases."

"How many have been taken over by HYDRA?"

"Unfortunately, it looks like a question of how many are still ours, not how many have fallen," Hand replied softly. "The Academies are under siege still, although it looks as if Operations is all but lost. Out of twenty-three bases, we've won the Office, and the Fridge is still secure. It doesn't look like it was ever in danger. But that's all so far."

"What will happen to the agents here?"

"They're being rounded up and all of our polygraph experts are cleared to test them. Luckily for us, there was only one HYDRA agent hidden among them, or we'd be severely understaffed for this."

"What do you need me to do?"

"I'll be taking Garrett to the Fridge myself, and while we're there I want to enact some new security protocols. I want you to come with and assist."

"Yes, ma'am," I said.

"You'll be below decks, out of the way if Garrett tries something," Hand informs me. "Bring your laptop and I'll have them send you the new protocols. They'll have to be moved to flash drives before we can input them. Start on that as soon as you get to the jet; we'll be there in fifteen—once I brief Coulson on the latest S.H.I.E.L.D. developments. He and I are the highest level agents left that we're sure of, so it looks like we'll be working together a lot from now on."


	7. Death of Victoria Hand (2014)

[Mission Log:  
Location: S.H.I.E.L.D. Aircraft 8183  
23 April 2014  
4:32  
Day of the HYDRA Uprising] _

"He's not telling stories now, is he?" Agent Hand's voice drifted down from above me. I leaned closer to my laptop, initiating the third file transfer. The new protocols Hand ordered were hefty, revolutionary...and absolutely necessary. "You know what I'm thinking, Agent Garrett?" Victoria continued, "I'm thinking the icebox of the Fridge is a little too comfortable for you. Maybe we should put you a little deeper underground." I raised one eyebrow, but I couldn't really blame her for the decision. "What do you think, Agent Ward? You shot the wrong Clairvoyant before. Care to shoot the right one?" There was the click of a gun being cocked, the sound of ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. Agent John Garrett about to get what he had coming to him.

Shots rang out above my head, and all of a sudden it was too quiet. There were no words, no quips—Victoria should have made a comment by now, justification for her actions. Thanked Ward. Something. And when the gun went off for another two shots, I sprang forward in my cramped compartment, locking my fingernails into the sliding plate above me and pulling it open. Instead of light, it was dark up there, with a few wispy tendrils of sable slipping through the large grating. The first drop of scarlet landed on my cheek, and only once I dabbed it with my finger and stared at it did I recognize what I was seeing above me for what it really was.

Hair and blood. Hair and blood. _Victoria_.

But that would mean...that would mean...Ward was HYDRA.

Her words echoed back in my ears. _"They hide in plain sight."_ Ward, an integral member of Coulson's team. _"They earn our trust, our sympathy." _Ward, devastated at the revelation that his SO Garrett was the hated and feared Clairvoyant. _"They make us like them."_ Meeting him in that hallway, him telling Agent Skye to run. _"And when you hesitate, they strike."_

Damn it. We'd all been duped. Again. And Agent Hand had paid the ultimate price.

I noticed my hands were shaking as I slid the slot covering closed. I noticed my heavy, shallow breathing as soon as I began to feel light-headed. Calm down, I told myself. Compartmentalize. One thing at a time: get off this plane.

Do Ward and Garrett know I'm here? I didn't think so, I was only there to help implement the new Fridge protocols, nothing to do with Garrett's arrest. It was a toss-up, really, but no bullets were currently speeding their way through my compartment, so it was a fairly safe assumption. Was there anyone else on the plane? If Hand was dead, more than likely Garrett's guards were as well, however many that might have been. A pilot? Someone had to be flying this thing, but I hadn't heard the steel doors open or any more gunshots after that first round. Conclusion? The pilot's HYDRA as well.

What did I have with me? Well, I was wearing my standard field analyst gear. Meaning loaded gun holstered to my leg, two spare magazines in my pocket. A couple bobby pins hidden in the cuff of my sleeves. What was around me, anything of use? My laptop, but the normal S.H.I.E.L.D. channels weren't even operational again yet. A scan of the small, cramped compartment I was in yielded some spare plane parts and a piece of coiled rope.

I could hear movement from above me, muffled voices amid the sounds of many objects being hefted from place to place. Then I realized...I was hearing Garrett's voice in my ear. The mini-microphone attached to the inside of his shirt, of course. S.H.I.E.L.D. standard protocol for high-risk prisoners. Either Garrett forgot about it—unlikely—or he knew that it had a very limited range, to about three thousand feet, so it would never reach anyone of consequence anyway.

But he didn't know I was there.

"Suit up, Ward, and smile a bit," Garrett was saying. "It's not called a coming out _party _for nothing."

"Yes, sir," Ward responded. "Your parachute secure?"

"If it isn't, I'll have a very interesting landing," he replied. "Barry, you ready? If they give us any trouble at the doors, just come around and give us a little sprinkling. You do it well and neither of us gets as much as a scrape, I know a place you can get excellent discount haircuts."

"Ready, John?" Ward asked.

"Oh, yes, very. Doesn't this remind you of that mission we did in Madagascar?"

"The one with the tribal arrow in my ass, sir? I really have no wish to repeat that one..." Wind noise filled my ears and I could hear nothing more. Grabbing the rope, I looped it around my arm and pressed my head to the hatch that would take me up into the main compartment.

I could hear nothing but the incessant roar, but I stood frozen. Sweat beaded on my palms, and my breathing was rapid and harsh. Garrett was the Clairvoyant. Ward was HYDRA. Victoria Hand was dead. S.H.I.E.L.D. was falling apart, and I was trapped on a plane with a HYDRA pilot in the middle of nowhere. Taking a deep breath, I forcibly pushed it all out of my mind. I had only one goal now: survive to return to my team.

With a newfound, fragile clarity, the sound of the plane's exterior weapons system firing jerked me into action. I swiftly pushed upward on the hatch and climbed the short ladder. The door to the cockpit was open, as was the one leading to the open air. Agent Hand's body lay a few feet away, blood collected into a pool around her midsection staining the grate and panel below. Jacobson and the other guard were slumped over the seats, Garrett's restraints hanging empty.

I stepped carefully over Victoria, heart hammering in my chest as I crept toward the pilot. Slowly snaking the rope out from around my arm, I readied it in trembling hands and continued my approach. Six inches from the back of his head, I threw the rope around his neck and tightened my fingers, knuckles turning white. He spluttered, gasping, hands scrabbling against the edges of his pilot's seat. Tugging slightly to keep tension in the rope, I said, "Keep us in the air if you want to live. One word to Garrett or Ward and I squeeze." I pulled harder for emphasis. "Where are we?" I demanded.

"The Fridge," he grunted. "Western Russia."

"Do you have enough fuel to get to the nearest S.H.I.E.L.D. base?"

"There's only HYDRA by now," he coughed. "The Hub's too far, and it's only a matter of time before my friends there play their trump card."

"The Office?"

"Even further. You will have no choice but to comply with HYDRA's wishes." He reached for the radio on the dashboard, clicking the button before I could yank the rope around his neck tight enough. He shuddered, thrashing about in the confines of his chair before slumping forward, out cold.

Garrett's voice came through my earpiece. "Grant, I think our pilot's been compromised. Vic must have put a mechanic or someone on the plane as well. She's nothing if not cunning."

I released the rope, jumping backwards into the main cabin. I frantically located the parachutes as the first rifle rounds began to pierce the aircraft. Garrett and Ward had taken both of the stealthchutes, leaving me emergency orange. I ripped the thin packaging open on the vest, pulling it on hurriedly with clumsy fingers. The only thing that might have been of use near me was a medium-sized medical kit. I snatched that up and looped and knotted straps through its handle, leaving it to dangle heavily on my right side.

I glanced back towards the main portion of the cabin.

I didn't know if the parachute would carry both of us, just that I couldn't leave her there to be blown up when one of Ward or Garrett's bullets finally managed to hit the fuel line. My fingers fumbled with the straps a second more before everything was as secure as I knew how to make them. Cold air swept through the interior of the jet, viciously tearing at my clothes and the bulky package on my back, blowing my hair into my face as I bent down by her side. I looped both arms under Victoria's, lifting her body from the floor. She wasn't heavy, exactly, but literally dead weight as I dragged her to the edge of the ramp and took a deep breath. Turbulence shook the jet all of a sudden and my legs were kicked out from under me, sending us into a mad, spinning free fall. Sky and Earth flipped and traded places over and over again, with Victoria clutched to my chest as the only steady object amid the swirling blue-green. The plastic kit swung madly at my side, battering us as it jerked around. With a great click it burst open, lid dangling wildly as it spilled its contents into the forest below.

I strove desperately to right myself, forcing all of my limbs into a straight board. It would take me to the surface faster than I wanted, but the disorientation already prevented me from opening the parachute, for fear of the strings accidentally getting whipped around my neck. We plummeted downward, at last at a straight angle, and dead weight became weightless as our speeds aligned. Shifting my hold on her to my left arm, I yanked downward on the release cord with my other hand and was hit with a load of bricks.

Even as the parachute unfurled above me in all its sunset orange glory, all I could think about was coughing air back into my flattened lungs from the force of being slowed to a fourth of our incoming speed. Victoria slipped from my grip, and I only just caught her before she cascaded down to Earth without me. The parachute strained above us, every wire stretched and taut to its limit. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that if I continued down even at this speed for more than a few more seconds, we would both end up ruby splotches in the dust. I would have to let her go, here, now, and watch from above as her body was mutilated by the jagged rocks below. My subconscious nudged me that the Academy of Operations must have done more damage to me than I knew if a thought like that could be said in a perfectly neutral voice in my head.

About two hundred feet from the ground, a boom filled my ears. Plumes of fire expanded above me, jet blown to smithereens. It seemed too far away to affect my parachute, but I silently wished for the wind to blow us away faster for fear of hot shrapnel shredding the cloth keeping us from plummeting. Several more cracks filled the air and pain exploded in my right shoulder. Looking down, one of the straps had been cut through, and blood was beginning to seep through my white blouse. Just a few more seconds...

My feet hit the ground with a jolt and my knees crumpled, sending both of us tumbling into the dirt. When the world finally stopped revolving I was flat on my back. Both icy and white hot, my left shoulder screamed for my attention. With only my left hand I pushed the straps of the parachute off, freeing me from the billowing orange sheet. The remains of the medical kit were still attached by the handle, and I flipped it over to scour the contents for something, anything, I could use. The edges of my vision were blurry.

Everything that hadn't been strapped in or tucked away in zipper pockets was gone, although I had no idea what that might have been. Can't miss what you've never had. I pulled out with shaking fingers a scalpel, tweezers, and a bottle of ethanol rubbing alcohol.

I had seen it on a TV show once, and it just might work. When I started laughing uncontrollably about the lucridity of having been trained to be an agent of the top-secret international agency S.H.I.E.L.D. for four years and having to rely on a fictional TV show for medical assistance, I knew the hysteria was starting to set in. Here I was, stuck in the middle of the Russian wilderness with no backup or support because my very organization had fallen apart at the highest levels with a bullet embedded in my shoulder and nowhere to go.

I grabbed the neck of the alcohol, unscrewing the cap with my teeth and dunking the tweezers and scalpel into it. Laying them across my lap, I pushed myself up against a tree trunk for support, unbuttoning the top half of my blouse and pushing it aside to slosh the bottle of alcohol over my shoulder before I could really think about what I was doing.

I didn't know if I shouted or if I screamed, just that my shoulder was on fire and if I died right then I wouldn't have minded all that much. My stomach clenched and I keeled forward, pain abating at the alcohol mixed with my blood drained out of the wound. Trembling fingers hefted the scalpel, looking slightly larger than an exacto knife. I pressed it to the skin next to my bullet wound, jaw ready to snap with the force of my clenched teeth. With a mild yowl of pain, I managed to cut a line about an inch long through the wound.

I resurfaced from the clutches of agony a few seconds later, fingers searching for the tweezers. I carefully lowered the tips into the hole, jittery and shaking. Excruciating as it was, the tweezers finally connected with a hard object, and I clamped down on it and pulled steadily. A blood-soaked bullet emerged from the wound and dropped into my lap as the tweezers fell from my hand. "Okay, one more," I told myself as I lifted the bottle of alcohol once again.

This time, I knew I screamed. When the ordeal was finally over, I unzipped the pouch on the interior of the med kit for a bandage. I pressed it to my wound with my blood-streaked left hand and leaned my head back against the tree. The world slipped into nothingness.

_"Don't see her parachute anymore. Think you hit her, Grant?"_

_"My instinct says yes, sir."_

_"Well, unless you've forgotten all the marksmanship I taught you, I'd say that's a fair assumption. Can't know where though."_

_"Should we search the forest for her and come back to the Fridge later?"_

_"Nah, we shouldn't bother. She won't make it far with your bullet in her, and the closest city is miles away. Closest airport's in Rybinsk. S.H.I.E.L.D.'s in no condition to mount a rescue, either. She won't be an issue."_

_"Yes, sir."_

_"Okay, Grant, you ready to get some new toys?"_

My eyes flicked open, the pain returning a moment later. I looked down at the bandage pressed to my wound. It was mostly soaked in scarlet, but that meant I hadn't been out long. I moved my hand back into the med kit until I found a needle threaded with surgical string. I barely felt the first insertion; the entire area was fiery. I managed five rough stitches to cover the inch-long cut before dropping the needle and seeking another bandage to cover it. A few strips of adhesive tape and darkness was pressing on my vision again. It was all I could do to unfold the thin, heat-reflecting blanket and drape it over myself before I was out again.


	8. Academy of Operations Orientation (2005)

**Sorry it took so long to post this one; I got distracted by schoolwork. This is the first of many time jumps that will pepper in between chapters until Aleksandra finds her way back to S.H.I.E.L.D. **

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Academy of Operations  
29 August 2005  
10:01  
9 Years Prior to the HYDRA Uprising]_

It was a huge auditorium, filled with metal chairs all facing a podium. There was an aisle down the center, and the middle sections were full of young adults like me. S.H.I.E.L.D. banners were unfurled on the walls and the noise level of the room added to the excited, nervous atmosphere. I estimated about a hundred of us there, and more streaming in the double doors by the minute. I chose a seat in a neutral location, away from the edges and with a few empty seats between me and any of the others. By a few minutes later, every seat was filled, and a hushed silence fell as a line of uniformed men and women—agents, I presumed—approached the podium.

There were two male and one female, ranging from their forties to their sixties. The first two seemed to be wound tightly, narrowed eyes and grim lines for mouths. The last of the trio wore a suit and a tie and greeted a few of the students near the front with a nod and a small smile. The other two took seats adjacent to the podium while he stepped up to the microphone and surveyed us all. He tapped it and the ambient chatter faded away.

"Welcome." He smiled out at all of us. "My name is Agent Phil Coulson. I've met some of you before when I contacted you with the opportunity to attend the Academy. For the rest of you, I look forward to working with you in the future." He paused, seeming to meet the eyes of every single student in his hushed audience. The energy level was surging around me, but you could hear a pin drop in the auditorium. "You are the best of the best. Your track records from whatever background you come—whether it be high school, college, the military, or another government organization—are stellar. And that is why you have been offered this opportunity, to join S.H.I.E.L.D.

"I know you've all read the documents; every single one of you here knows exactly who we are and what we do. You know that we're a secret intelligence organization founded by the United States government in 1945 that is now present and active on almost every continent on the globe. And even though I hope all of you made it through the hundred and sixty-three pages of tiny print in your information packet before you signed your contract—" he gives us a knowing, amused glance, "you should know that all S.H.I.E.L.D.'s goals can be distilled down to one word: protection. We protect the world from secrets it's not ready for. We track new and dangerous technologies to make sure they're not being abused. We monitor the existence of gifted individuals and ensure both the safety of them and those around them.

"By signing that contract one week ago, all of you agreed to join S.H.I.E.L.D. You agreed to leave your civilian lives behind in order to be part of something greater, and I tell you it will all be worth it. Life with S.H.I.E.L.D. will be exciting, dangerous, and most of all extraordinary. The next few years in this Academy will prepare you to face what's out there. I won't lie to you, it will be difficult. It will require sacrifice. Some of this you already have experienced. You all said goodbye to your families this morning for the foreseeable future. It will require determination, perseverance, and strength of character." He paused. "Trust me, you all look less nervous than I was when I was sitting where you are now." He gave us that smile again, the one that made us all relax a little more in our seats. "Becoming an agent is a huge undertaking. Things are going to get very, very weird for you all soon, and everything you thought you knew about the world will be overturned. So I'll leave you with one piece of advice. S.H.I.E.L.D. is made up of people from all over the globe who are the best and the brightest in their respective fields. Each and every cadet and every agent is valuable to us, and we have your best interests in mind. When in doubt, remember that, and _trust the system_." He smiled again. "The best of luck to all of you, and I look forward to working alongside you in the future." He turned to the man on his right. "Over to you, Don."

We applauded politely for Agent Coulson as he stepped down and exited the doors with a small wave. Probably off to go save the world or something. The idea brought a bubbly feeling to my already unstable gut—maybe someday that's what I would be doing.

Chatter spiked in the room with Coulson's departure, but the man and woman standing in his place waited for the door to close fully behind him before tapping the mic for silence again. "Welcome to the Academy of Operations," he began. "We would like to spend the next hour detailing life at the Academy, which will make up the next four or more years of your lives. My name is Agent Don Baring, and this is Agent Qiang Leong, but from now on you will address us and the other agents here as 'sir' or 'ma'am'. She and I oversee this Academy together." If possible, his scowl deepened. "This is an elite institution, and it is a great privilege to attend here. As such, we tolerate no major rule infractions. Immediate expulsion will result from instances of cheating, fighting, unauthorized departures from campus, or any illegal activity. Uniforms must be kept in good condition with no tears or wrinkles. You are allowed one personal item and one photograph from your former life; the rest of your necessities will be provided for you. There will be no outside food, drink, or electronics allowed. No romantic relationships will be tolerated during your time at the Academy."

The woman smoothly took over. "The rooming arrangements will be as follows. You each will receive your own small room. No other cadet is to enter your room for any reason, as they are meant to be places to sleep only. Room inspections will be done at random, so keep them neat. Meals will be served three times a day, and as with classes tardiness will not be tolerated. You will be assigned classes according to your skill level and evaluated during the first week of settling in. During this week no demerits shall count."

Baring transitioned in. "You will be trained in tactics, field operations, language, discipline, hand to hand combat, and to use various weapons. Mandatory drills will be completed in the morning and at night. Detailed schedules for each of you are located in your rooms, and those are posted on the back wall." He glanced at it, and like a big tidal wave every head in the room twisted to peer at the back of the auditorium before turning back to him. "This Academy is not a place for the faint of heart. It will push you beyond your limits, teach you the strength of your body while honing the strength of your mind. We will teach you not to make the hard decisions, but to follow orders. So here is the first test of many you'll receive, one that will be consistently repeated throughout your time here." He paused. "Silently line up single-file to view the rooming assignments."

No one moved, all of us glancing at each other as if to say, "Right now?" and "I think so, but I don't want to stand up first! You stand." Eventually we all did rise, shuffling awkwardly toward the middle to form a jagged, zig-zaggy line inching towards the postings. I found my name quickly as they were alphabetical: Room 147. I followed the line out the side doors and into the sunlight, blinking and taking in the shiny campus buildings that lay across the field.

"Room?" an agent asked me.

"147...ma'am," I added hastily.

She pointed to a tall, dark building to my right. "The one hundreds are in there. Lunch in an hour in the dining hall—" she pointed to a low gray building on my left this time, "—and don't be late."

I nodded, following the fanning out of the line until I turned to follow a small trickle of students towards my building. The door handle was cool to the touch, and inside was a line do numbered doors mixed with exterior bathrooms culminating in a staircase to take you to the next level. I climbed it quickly, ending up in an identical hallway. On my right, close to the window on the other end, was the door marked 147. It had a card scanner like you would find at a hotel, but when I tried the door it opened easily.

...Well, Agents Baring and Leong weren't kidding when they said it was just for sleeping. Against one wall was a thin bed, made up so tightly you could bounce a coin off it and on the other was a small dresser with a bare too that came up to about ribcage-height. Lying on it was a campus map, what looked to be a student ID card, and a schedule for the rest of the week. On the back of the map was a list entitled Academy of Operations Complete Set of Rules and Regulations. After glancing at it, I sighed and looked down at the items in my hands. One photograph, one personal item to make this place home. It was a tall order.

I put the picture down first, propping it up against the wall. Mom and Dad stared back at me, smiling, and the eleven-year-old me gave me a toothy, slightly opened-mouthed grin—the result of Dad tickling me for the picture. Then I set the матрёшка, the matryoshka dolls, down as well, opening the biggest and pulling out the next size down. The smallest one opened as well to reveal nothing inside; the piece commonly referred to as the "baby" was long gone. They were decorated and painted intricately, mostly red and yellow but with a few splotches of green here and there. The nesting dolls had been a gift from my parents when I was four years old.

The ringing of a bell from somewhere outside jolted me into action again, pulling open the drawers in search of my new uniform. I changed quickly into the right black outfit, taking note of the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia patch over the heart and the pocket that was the perfect size for my ID card. The next drawer contained a watch, and I slipped that on as well. There were two pairs of shoes by the door, thin running shoes and thicker combat boots. I pulled on the shoes and exited my room, letting the door shut behind me and then experimentally testing the door handle. It locked for real this time.

"I hope you thought to bring your ID card out with you," observed a voice from behind me. I turned to see another cadet watching me with amusement.

"I did," I replied a bit defensively.

She laughed. "Better than the guy down the hall then. He's going to get the first demerits of any of us, I'll bet my new watch."

I cracked a smile at that. "Probably. I'm Aleksandra."

"Sabrina," she dipped her head. "Lunch?"

* * *

**Thanks! There'll be a few more about the Academy of Operations, which is about as friendly a place as it seemed from this. **


	9. Saying Goodbye (2014)

[Personal Log:  
Location: Russia  
23 April 2014  
15:08  
Day of the HYDRA Uprising] _

My eyes felt heavy and sticky as they opened. How long had I been asleep? My left hand went automatically to my pocket to check my phone for the time. Fifteen hundred hours S.H.I.E.L.D. time, but my muddled brain couldn't seem to translate that into my current time zone. Whatever that was.

Blinking rapidly, I rotated my stiff neck and pushed myself further up against the tree to look around. Assess the situation. I pulled the med kit towards me, perusing its contents for anything remotely useful. More of the square bandages I had pressed to my wound and enough adhesive tape to cocoon my entire arm. The half-empty bottle of rubbing alcohol, bloody tweezers, and an even bloodier scalpel. I found ibuprofen in one of the side pockets and I downed two in the hopes of taking the edge off of the bullet wound. Near the bottom surfaced a tiny packet of numbing gel, which would have been useful an hour or so ago but not so much now. Among the other useless items were an oral thermometer, shots of epinephrine, and a package of five small, empty syringes. On a more fortunate note, there was a plastic bottle of hard candies, a small flashlight and batteries, and, of course, the blanket in which I was currently ensconced.

A quick investigation of my pocket produced my badge and S.H.I.E.L.D. ID, government-issued driver's license and credit card behind it. The other revealed a grand total of fifteen American dollars and my phone, with all of its 38% battery charge and no service. I turned it off as a precaution.

The ICER Agent Simmons had given me was still strapped to my right leg, but I didn't know how much of a help that was going to be in the wilderness. How many shots of—what was it, dendrotoxin?—would it take to knock out a bear?

I shivered, not really dressed for the cold Russian weather. There was no telling just how chilly it would get come midnight, but the sun was only beginning to set and already my teeth were on the verge of chattering. It didn't help that my white blouse was soaked in red in one corner with a large rip through it, although the black tank top underneath seemed to have escaped damage. My pants were of a decent thickness and hopefully my boots would be enough, combined with the S.H.I.E.L.D. blanket, to prevent frostbite. Already my fingers were beginning to feel less human and more like sausages attached to my palms, and I put them between my knees in the hopes of warming them up before scanning the rest of the clearing.

The bright orange parachute, damn it. Not only was it at least twenty by ten feet long, it was the brightest color as far as the eye could see. And...what was the likelihood S.H.I.E.L.D. had installed a tracking beacon in their parachutes? Highly likely. If S.H.I.E.L.D. had been taken over by HYDRA, that parachute would lead them right to me.

I lurched upward and onto my feet on unsteady legs, listing to the side before finding done remnant of balance. I grabbed the scalpel from the med kit contents strewn on the ground and made my way over to the billowy parachute, searching along the rim with my hands for the tell-tale bump of a tracker. Slashing carefully through the fabric, I cut it out, leaving a small black cylinder in my hand about the size of three quarters stacked atop one another. Casting about for a rock, I beat the diminutive device until its plastic coating and electronic guts were one in the same—a smashed hunk of metal and wires.

Night was falling for real now, and I could swear it was getting steadily colder by the minute. I was deeply regretting the decision to leave my jacket in my room at the Hub before going wandering around—before this madness had descended—when my eyes fell on Victoria. Ignoring the flip of my stomach, I extricated it from her stiff body and pulled it into my own, taking extra care with my left shoulder. I dragged the orange parachute back to the tree against which I had been leaning. I picked up the pack with one hand, awkwardly untangling the strings before tossing it up into the tree. It landed back at my feet with a defiant thump. I launched it harder the next time, resulting in sizzling pain from my shoulder as I stretched too far. My butt hit the hard ground with a jolt, but the pack stuck. I reached out to pull the orange parachute over myself, the ridges in it forming a sort of oblong tent. It didn't touch the ground on both sides and was by no means perfect, but hopefully it would conserve some heat as well. I tucked my knees up to my chest and wrapped myself up in the S.H.I.E.L.D. blanket again. My eyes closed not of my own accord, and before I knew it I was asleep.

Stiff arms. Stiff legs. And the sensation of being repeatedly stabbed in my left shoulder with a hot poker. When I groped with one still-half-dead-to-the-world hand for the edge of the parachute and pulled it aside, the sun streamed directly into my eyes from the only patch of sky not obscured by tree branches. I flexed my fingers and wiggled my toes inside my boots.

Peeling the adhesive tape off my sensitive skin, I examined the stitched wound underneath. The bandage wasn't bloody this time so much as soaked in a clearish liquid, and I changed it out with gritted teeth. The wound itself was an angry red, but it didn't look overly swollen or anything of that sort. I wished I had Adrianna to confirm that for me.

I wished I had my team.

After making my semi-uncooperative legs support my weight again I started working my jaw as I moved around the small area of my "camp," moving like an old, crotchety woman who both misplaced her cane and forgot to take her medication. Somehow I ended up next to Victoria's body.

It had taken on a pale complexion overnight, giving her a ghostly, very, very dead look. Her lips were pursed much like they had been when she was alive, and if not for her color I would have said she would get up and start berating some new cadets under her command in that strict and disapproving time of hers. Her black-framed glasses were askew on her nose, and I gingerly fixed them back in place, remembering her habit to push them back in place whenever she was handed an overly large stack of files. Then, of course, back when she was my SO, she would hand them to me to deal with, but I never minded. A new analyst fresh out of the Academy was lucky to get her, and word was she only took on those who exceeded her rigid standards. I understood that. She was hardly ever anything but impatient, was intolerant of most forms of extravagant socialization—including, but not limited to, bars, parties, and even large birthday celebrations, and rarely found cause to smile. But I also had never learned more from anyone in my life, never had someone whose character I trusted so completely. She was my SO, my trusted friend and mentor.

I clasped her cold hand in mine, frustration and sadness emanating from me, but none of it leaking out my eyes. That was a good thing, because I wasn't quite sure the tears wouldn't just freeze to my face as I crouched there.

Then my stomach growled, and I realized just how hungry and thirsty I was. Water, I thought. Why did the stupid S.H.I.E.L.D. med kit not come with water? It was time to do some exploring, truly assess my situation.

I unscrewed the lid of the bottle of hard candies and popped one into my mouth, dropping the golden wrapper back inside. Butterscotch. I stood up, carefully brushing dust off the back of my pant legs. On second thought, I emptied the bottle into the bare bottom of the med kit, taking the bottle to carry water if I found some. It wouldn't hold much, but besides the half-full alcohol container it was the biggest I had.

I set off in one direction where the trees seemed to be thinning out slightly, trying to maintain a straight course but stumbling a little unavoidably. The bright orange of the parachute meant that I would probably be able to find my way back within a hundred feet, but it also meant anyone else could too. What Garrett said over the microphone was right—S.H.I.E.L.D. was in no condition to mount a rescue op for one agent, especially one whom they wouldn't even know where to look. The only senior agent who might have launched such a futile mission for me was lying in a forest with two holes in her chest.

Of course, as one of the few level eight agents left, Coulson might have considered going after Hand worthwhile, but we wouldn't be reported missing until—well, with Ward in the picture, weeks from now. No help from S.H.I.E.L.D. was coming.

HYDRA, on the other hand...Garrett had labeled me a lost cause and gone off to raid the Fridge. There was no reason to think he might not do a follow-up once they were finished there, or have one of his cronies do it just to make sure. Especially if they were trying to keep Ward's cover intact with Coulson's team—I knew the truth. I was a threat. HYDRA eliminated threats.

So, camouflage. I'd already destroyed the tracker, but to any low-flying overhead aircraft, the orange would be as good as a beacon saying, "Come, kill me, I'm a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent with possible knowledge of your evil plans for world domination!" I was on my way to find a source of water; perhaps there would be mud as well—insulating and toning down the bright color.

It didn't take much walking to find a lake, and I pulled out the jar and filled it about three-fourths of the way with water. Then I sloshed in some of the ethyl alcohol. I swirled the mixture around in the jar before opening it and taking in a long draught. Despite its mild acrid taste, it felt like the best thing I'd put in my mouth for the past month. The headache I hadn't noticed developing receded, and I filled the jar again, repeating the process. This time I capped the jar for good after adding the alcohol, swinging it absently as I surveyed the lake and its shoreline. The were no signs of civilization as far as my eyes could see, but the sun reflecting off the water made visibility poor. The edge was fine dirt rather than sand and the entirety of the lake appeared relatively clear and clean.

I glanced upward and, suddenly feeling exposed with only open sky above me, retreated back to the tree line and then back to camp. The ache returned with a vengeance to my shoulder, and as utter exhaustion gripped me I was forced to take a midday rest. A few hours passed before I came to again, and I packed my meager possessions into the parachute backpack, the process made doubly as long by the loss of the use of one hand. Slinging the pack onto my back was easy, but I soon discovered that the left strap wound directly over my bullet wound and decided to hoist it on my good shoulder only. The parachute folded into a not-unmanageable bundle.

I knelt by Victoria—Victoria's body—and took her cold hand in mine. "You won't be forgotten," I promised her in an empty tone. "Your name will go on the Wall of Valor. And if the old one got torn down in the uprising, we'll start a new one." Tears wet my lashes for the first time. "Goodbye, Victoria." And then, even quieter, "You were like family." A great void was opening in my chest, threatening up suffocate me.

I reached into the pocket of her jacket—my jacket, now, and retrieved her S.H.I.E.L.D. badge. I touched it to her hand. "I'll keep this for you. You will be remembered." Standing shakily, I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

After picking up the orange bundle, I left, refusing to look back. I collapsed on the waterfront, exhausted and contented to spend the next two hours dunking the orange cloth in mud. The result was a dark soil color with only an orange tint left, a result that left me satisfied. I changed the covering on my wound, well aware of the fast dwindling supply of bandages, and retreated to the trunk of a tree as I had sat against before. I fell asleep, as I had done many times since my arrival.


	10. Meeting Cam (2007)

**Last episode...epic. Just sayin'.**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Academy of Operations  
19 December 2007  
13:27  
6 Years Prior to HYDRA Uprising] _

"Reload!" The drill sergeant barked. "Ready! Fire!" Thirty AK-47s let off bangs down the line. "Continue firing!" Agent Lumley shouted, and my finger pulled the trigger again. I was kneeling behind a sandbag barrier resting the front of my gun on it, arms braced against the jolting recoil. After a few more rounds, Lumley yelled, "Cadets, line up!" We hurried to follow his orders, each of us looking straight ahead as he scrutinized us, searching for a reason to call one of us out. He found none. "Perimeter run! Double time!"

The line of us turned and jogged off on the well-beaten grass to the right. No one dared to lag behind as we skirted all of the Academy buildings where other cadets were doing similar exercises or sitting through tactics training, language, or mental exercises. By the time we'd completed our three-quarter mile run around the campus, no one was inwardly complaining about the frigid December air anymore or how their fingers were frozen too stiff to pull a trigger properly. The air seared our lungs as we hammered along, and we stood carefully at attention upon our return, trying our best to mask the gulping of air we longed for. Three quarters of a mile was nothing, but in air that burned like fire to breathe it was barely bearable. Then again, we'd discovered early on that the Academy had a way of stretching its cadets' definition of what exactly they could bear.

"Roll call!" Lumley announced, marching to the first cadet in line.

"Cadet Virgil Quincy, SIR!" the cadet shouted. He moved to the next in line.

"Cadet Margaret Wesselly, SIR!"

The third cadet was up now. "Cadet Pet—" He choked, gulping for air. The pause only lasted a half second, but Lumley barked, "Demerit or another two laps!" before he could even finish. The cadet, harshly chastened, fell silent and stared straight ahead over Lumley's shoulder and took off as soon as Lumley had moved on to his next victim.

The rest of the line went through without mistake. I shouted, "Cadet Aleksandra Chaev, SIR!" when it was my turn, and soon after he dismissed us for dinner.

Unlike in high school, the doorways to the dining commons did not seem to bulge as students flooded in from every direction but rather stayed straight and erect as we filed in in well-organized lines. The entire process was simple, with only one choice—if, in its solitude, it could still be called that—for meat, vegetable, and starch. There was no dessert, and word in the dorms was that candy bars went for around twenty-five to thirty bucks a pop. Then again, if you were caught with one, you had pretty much signed the form for your own expulsion. Rules were paramount at the Academy, and the denial of life's pleasures was a close second.

It had been two years since I'd started at the Academy, and it was as strict as ever, with the exception of being allowed a two-person room as a third-year. We got to return home exactly three times a year, on all-expenses-paid flights all over the country, and, in Sabrina's case, the world. We'd all been transformed from average young adults to being lean and fit, and we now all knew about twenty ways each to take out a target. There was a risk every day of being expelled, and that kept us all on our toes.

I sifted carefully out of line and into a seat at one of the tables, positioning myself next to Daniel and leaving a spot open for the last member of our small group. Sabrina appeared a few minutes later once the line had completely died down. She was about a minute and a half past very, very late. I raised an eyebrow. "So, look what the cat dragged in," I said, smirking. "Did Agent Winfield notice you were late?"

"Nah, I managed to sneak by," Sabrina laughed. "God, Alex, no need to compare me to dead rodents." As the only one to be able to call me Alex, she insisted on using it often and whenever possible. I pretended the shortened, misspelled version of my name annoyed me, but in reality I'd miss it terribly if she ever stopped.

Sabrina gestured to the unfamiliar brown-haired, freckled young man she had in tow. "This is Cam. I saved him from getting chewed up and spit out in Brindle's obstacle course. He's a transfer, trying to get cleared for field work."

"From which Academy?" Daniel asked, lifting his sandwich to his mouth.

"Sci-Tech," Cam answered, glancing around. "Lot different from this place." He self-consciously straightened the jacket of his uniform, glancing furtively around to make sure no instructors were watching him. The action reminded me of our premiere year, where no one escaped without at least one demerit based on rumpled clothing.

Sabrina set her tray down on the table and motioned for Cam to do the same. Cam took the empty seat across from me and Sabrina pulled up one for herself. "That's because we know how to kick ass," she told him matter-of-factly and flashed me a mischievous grin.

He cracked a smile. "True, but it's like a prison combined with military boot camp. It's only my third day, and I've been yelled at by pretty much every instructor I have."

"Can't learn to break out of prison if you don't live in one," Daniel commented offhandedly. "We've got enough to survive on. I bet Sci-Tech doesn't have a black market."

"Nope, just a ongoing class prank war," Cam replied before his curiosity got the better of him. "Black market for what, exactly?"

"Knives, guns, ammunition, low grade pain medication like Advil, handcuffs, grenades, and chocolate," Sabrina listed off. "Oh, and word is, if you can find the right guy, you might be able to rent a battered-but-functional iPod for a day."

"Oh. Why would you need to buy guns and knives?" Cam asked, looking at us all with a little fear.

I leaned closer to Daniel. "Ten bucks he doesn't last a week."

"Deal."

"No reason," Sabrina twirled her fork. "They're just fun to play with."

"Adds a bit of spice to campus," I told him.

Daniel rolled his eyes at our antics. "Don't let them scare you. They're to practice with, before exams. The locks to the gyms and ranges are easy enough to pick if you passed Doors and Locks 101, but the armories are sealed up tight."

"Why don't they provide ones to practice with?" Cam questioned sensibly. "That's like if our instructors only allowed us an hour with the textbook every day."

"If we can't pick it up in the time allotment for each class, they don't want us here," I shrugged. "It's graded on a bell curve, so if half the class is doing it, we all have to in order to stay competitive."

"You can't just report them? If someone cheats at Sci-Tech, about a hundred other students will report it before the next class period. And they'll be expelled."

"Yeah, that doesn't happen here," Sabrina grinned. "We think we're utilizing our new knowledge in sneaking all this past our instructors, but I doubt they don't all know about it, especially when the cadets-to-be-specialists go through their class on waterboarding or one of the other two torture courses. But it emulates the real world, so I think they allow it."

"What do we know about the real world, trapped on a campus like this?" Cam asked. "When they mentioned I wasn't going to get to see my family for the next year and a half, my jaw nearly hit the floor."

"That's what they're preparing us for, the real world," I said. "We have to go through all of this stuff so that's we're ready."

"I think the 'real world' from Sci-Tech and the 'real world' in Operations are two entirely different things," he muttered. "I don't think I want to live in your version of the 'real world.'"

I smiled. "For us, it's all we'll know. It's our destiny." And then everyone in our small group burst out laughing.


	11. Perigoyev (2014)

**My apologies for the long wait! Thanks for reading!**

[Personal Log:  
Location: Russia  
25 April 2014  
6:17  
2 Days After the HYDRA Uprising] _

Upon waking and staring up at the sky and the time showing on my phone, I was startled to find I'd slept more than twenty-four hours straight. Smears of blood matted the old bandage to my chest wound, but either I'd dulled myself to the pain or it was lessening. The exertion of the days before had no doubt caused my extreme fatigue, but with my dwindling supplies I had to start looking for some sort of town nearby. The sling would help keep my arm immobilized, but the nine butterscotch candies left would only sustain me for so long.

I hadn't seen any signs of smoke on the clear horizon, so the only reasonable thing to do was continue around the lake looking for signs of life. It would be slow going, at first, but at least we were heading into summer—the nights wouldn't be getting any colder. I hauled myself up, grasping a low-hanging tree branch above me. Out of my pocket fell something flat and gray, and I picked it up curiously and dusted off the dirt. It was a hard drive of some kind, presumably containing backups of the latest S.H.I.E.L.D. files. It was warm to the touch from my body heat, but rapidly cooling down in the open air. I stuffed it back in, telling myself to be more careful next time now that I knew it was in there.

And then I started my trek around the lake. It was slow, painful, and arduous, but each day a but more land had disappeared behind me and a little more appeared in front. The lake was by no means straight or evenly rounded at its edge, but I kept to the treeline, stopping to rest frequently but always pushing on. Nights I curled up under my tent of brown-orange fabric, and by day I was either dozing or walking. I spent much of my time warming up the sausages that had replaced my fingers due to the cold air and thinking through the appearance of HYDRA a million times over. Agents who I would be devastated to discover had defected. And sometimes agents who I would not doubt twice as being two-faced.

On the third day I spotted a large brown bear snuffling through the woods. My heart pounded in my chest and I drew my firearm, but the bear seemed perfectly content to go right on foraging and ignore the wounded human warily watching him altogether. He was about shoulder-height and a deep chocolate coat. His lumbering around didn't seem to be indicative of an animal that posed an actual threat, but the campfire stories I'd heard as a little girl were enough to make my muscles tense and ready to spring into action should his muzzle even turn my way.

On the fourth day the butterscotch candies truly ran out and I was forced to catch small game to eat. I chanced upon a large ground squirrel first and I almost shot it before thinking better of it. Who knew what dendrotoxin would do to me if I ingested it? Eventually I settled on a compromise, as I had nothing else to kill it with—S.H.I.E.L.D.'s classes in spycraft definitely didn't cover trapping small animals—and my stomach felt painfully hollow. The squirrel collapsed mid scamper onto the dirt and lay still as the poison flooded its system. As soon as it woke up and took a few groggy steps, however, I bashed it on the head with a large rock and gutted it with the scalpel. The dendrotoxin would be mostly metabolized and hopefully rendered inert. The squirrel was cooked over a fire made from dry wood that still sent up far more smoke than I liked. Its warmth, however, was blissful.

On the fifth day the alcohol ran out, though I had no idea if it was doing anything at all anyway. I couldn't remember enough of high school chemistry to be able to determine that, although I was positive the teacher mentioned ethyl alcohol quite often throughout the year. Was it the pH? If so, it didn't matter anyhow. Either way, there was nothing I could do about it, so I continued to drink as normal.

On the eighth day I first noticed some measure of my real strength returning. I rested less, I walked faster. The slight incline was less arduous, and the declines didn't jar my body as they once had. My bullet wound was still an angry red mess, but there was evidence of new cell growth. Progress.

Then, on the fourteenth day, a few dark dots appeared on the horizon. Black smudges drifted up from above them. Houses and smoke along the waterfront. A town.

It took all of the rest of that day to reach the edge of the village—it couldn't be called a town, I realized as I got closer. It was basically a collection of wooden buildings clustered around a central area, although what was special about the fifty yard by fifty yard space between all the shacks was beyond me. There wasn't a car in sight and although rudimentary light poles were erected most everything else seemed to run without electricity. The edge of the lake was literally a few paces away from the farthest house, water lapping against the jagged rocks that constituted their beach.

The mother clad in faded green and her small child stared at me as I walked into the village, whether because of my attire or because they simply weren't used to seeing strangers. "Я не знаю," she told the little boy wrapped around her calves. _I don't know_. The pronunciation was a bit odd, but I could speak here. This was my native language. I could find help.

My eyes scanned the buildings surrounding me, alighting on one marked as a general store. Its door was propped open with a hunk of rock and I stepped inside cautiously. The roof was low but the room itself was spacious, with only a few piles of clothing and a shelf of goods. A man stood facing away from me adjusting the cans on the shelf. He was a larger, more heavy-set man, wearing faded blue jeans and a huge furred jacket that I suspected he'd trapped the animals for himself. He sported a scraggly beard and a receding hairline.

"Добрый день," I greeted him.

He startled, turning to face me with surprise. "Good afternoon," he said in Russian. "My name is Sergey Ivanovich Krutoy." He held out his hand to shake and I submitted my own to his harsh grip, as was the custom.

"Ekaterina Ruslanovna Denisov," I replied, almost tripping over the name in surprise of myself. It was, of course, false, but somehow my father's name—Ruslan—had snuck its way in. Talking in my native language was odd, after near eighteen years of constant English, but my tongue had by no means forgotten how to form the sounds. It fitted like an old, comfortable glove.

"You are new in town?" he asked. "How did you come? We are not expecting the train for another two months."

"I came on foot," I replied. "I am looking for a hotel or other such accommodations."

He chuckled to himself, peering at me curiously. "Does this look like the kind of town to have a hotel?"

"Is there somewhere I could stay, then? I have been traveling for a long time. I would like a place to rest before seeking passage onward."

He shook his head. "The only houses in this town are the ones built by the grandfathers' own hands, just enough space for their families to live in. You said you were looking for transportation?" I nodded. "You're going to be stuck here a while. The next train will be freight only, and there are no other means besides your own feet to take you where you're going." He clasped his hands and rubbed them against each other. "You are not running from the law, no? You will not bring trouble upon us for our hospitality?"

"No," I promised.

"Then there might be a place you can stay," he told him, gesturing for me to follow him. "It is this way."

"What is this town called?" I asked him as we walked. "What is the lake called?"

"This town is Perigoyev, and the lake is the reservoir Rybinsk. I am curious; I was not aware of another town nearby. From where do you come?"

"One not much larger than this," I told him half-truthfully. "I was traveling with my brother, but we were separated." I hoped that would give enough of an explanation to explain my solitude out in the woods.

He stopped us in front of a house on the outskirts of the town. It looked very similar to the others, except the door hung more loosely and weeds grew at the base of the walls. "This house was built by a man who lived here with his wife and son for eight years. Last winter, the son fell through the ice on the lake and the father jumped in after him to save him. They both perished from the freezing water. The wife couldn't stand living here anymore and left with all the possessions she could carry on the first passenger train of the spring. The house has been empty for three months." Sergey pushed open the door. "It is yours if you wish to stay in it."

The house had three rooms, a large combined sitting room and kitchen, a bedroom, and the bathroom. Thin netting covered the windows, as if to keep out the mosquitoes, but the climate was much too cold for them to be a problem. There were three chairs at the table and the stove was a gas one with four burners. In the bedroom was a large mattress with the sheets stripped from it and a stout dresser. "спасибо, this is more than enough," I thanked him. He nodded, smiling, and as I shifted my arm his eyes fell to my bloody shirt, just visible beneath my suit jacket.

"You are injured?" he questioned.

"I tended to it on the way; it's not too bad," I told him.

"That is a lot of blood," he observed. "You are a doctor?"

"No, I just did the best I could. I was attacked by a brown bear," I made up wildly.

"It is impressive that you could fight off or outrun a bear," he said, eyeing me.

"I don't know how I did it," I shrugged, eager to change the subject. "Is there anywhere I can buy blankets, food, and other necessities?"

"My store has what you will need. You have money?"

I reached into my pocket and placed crumpled bills on the dining table. "Do you accept American dollars?"

"I'll make an exception," he said. "Your story keeps becoming more and more interesting. American dollars." He sighed, seeming resigned. "I will inform the town elders of your arrival, but I don't think it will be an issue if you cause no trouble. You are not a prostitute, no?"

"No," I replied, not entirely surprised by the question. My arrival here was odd to say the least, and traveling bloodied and alone through the woods was bound to raise a few eyebrows, even without the addition of the American dollars. I debated asking for the use of a phone, but who would I call? S.H.I.E.L.D. was a mess right now, and an ex-agent named Grant Ward had taught me that no one could be trusted. Getting out of this town would be simple enough via the train, but returning to the United States without a passport would be difficult. I had no form of identification besides my S.H.I.E.L.D. ID and no word besides my own that I wasn't HYDRA as well. I could probably reach a base in eastern Russia by plane, but there was no guarantee that it hadn't fallen to the insurgents. And I refused to bring any of this down on my family.

Sergey left, shutting the door behind him after saying he'd install his extra cylinder of propane so that I could have some heat. The water—as long as I didn't mind it cold—seemed to be working fine, so I took a shower and came out cleaner than I'd been in weeks. Finally all the blood and sweat was washed off, although I'd had to be very careful around my wound. It was healing well, but there was no doubt in my mind that it would leave a large scar.

After putting my soiled clothing back on, I started to regret the cold shower: my body was chilled and my long hair wet. Trying to ignore it by moving around, I set about unpacking my few belongings. They didn't go far, in case I needed to make a quick getaway, but this place didn't feel like that. It actually reminded me of my long-ago, childhood home. It was nice.

Sergey returned a few minutes later with bags of goods, and when I tried to pay him he accepted half but waved the other half off. "It's a housewarming gift," he told me. I had a suspicion that he could read exactly how much pain I'd gone through in the recent past, something I wasn't quite sure how to feel about. I needed a friend, but not one constantly wondering where I had come from and what exactly I'd gone through.

I'd just finished putting all the food in the kitchen and the blankets on the bed when there was yet another knock on the door. I opened it and my eyes fell to a little brown-haired boy holding a large bowl of borscht, a deep purple soup made from beets. He proffered it up to me, the liquid steaming slightly in the cool air. "It's from my мама," he said.

"Thank you," I told him, taking the bowl from his grasp. It was warm on the bottom, and nothing had ever felt so good to my chilled hands. "What's your name?"

"Viktor," he answered shyly. From across the street I could see his mom standing just outside their front door, watching us carefully.

"Thank you, Viktor," I told him. "Tell your mother thank-you too, da?"

"Da!" he agreed, smiling up at me. He took off for his own home, and I waved a hand in thanks at his mother before closing the door. I could hardly wait to consume it—my first hot meal, not counting roasted small game of questionable doneness in the forest. I located a spoon in the kitchen and returned to the table. My stomach seemed to have shrunk from the days of minimal sustenance, but I force fed myself more than I wanted because it wouldn't be warm later. Satiated for the first time in a long while, I poured the rest of the bowl into a pot I find in one of the cupboards—about half—and wash it out at the sink.

As I was about to go return the bowl, I noticed that I was still dressed in the ripped, torn, and shot up clothes that I arrived in. I changed quickly into a shirt and pants that Sergey estimated would fit me and headed out for the house across the road. I knocked on the door and waited for a moment, ears picking up a shuffling from inside. It opened to reveal Viktor's mother. I thanked her and gave her back the bowl.

"It was no trouble," she smiled at me. "It's not often we have visitors." We chatted inconsequential pleasantries for another few minutes before I bade her goodbye, marveling at my apparent ability to make quick friends in my native country. I hadn't been back here at all since..._relocating_ to the United States at nine, and had considered myself thoroughly Americanized. But it felt homey here.

Which immediately brought a negative suspicion to the forefront of my mind. I tramped it down as fast as possible. There was very little chance this place was a HYDRA outpost. It had no tactical value. I forced myself to relax. Ward and Garrett were long gone, and the rest of HYDRA was not hiding in the trees.

I spent the rest of the month living in much a similar fashion in Perigoyev. Alert, but not wary. The other townspeople left me alone for the most part. Viktor and his family stayed close, however. Every day he appeared on my doorstep with a foodstuff of some kind, a smaller portion than the first time but enough for a meal nonetheless. Usually it was whatever the family was having that he brought over. It became routine for us to do this, me saying, "Tell your mother thank-you too, da?" and him replying, "Da!" After is finished with it, I'd always go and knock on their door for a few minutes of talk.

I couldn't tell her anything real, of course. But there were tidbits I could and did share. That my parents were far away—yes, one set probably worried to death about me in California, the other a long time dead. That I was currently jobless through no fault of my own—because my intelligence organization basically imploded beneath me. That I worked with computers for a living—working on ops involving biology yet undiscovered by the rest of mankind, spies who could kill you with the nail of their pinky, and on occasion aliens. She'd laughed and said if my trade was computers I'd come to the wrong town.

After about a week or so Viktor and I had taken to playing catch with a rubber ball in the street. He explained that he was the only kid in the village and throwing to his mother was like throwing to a tree, and I was more than happy to oblige. It have me down thing to do, kept my reflexes and coordination in good shape. There was only so much running and stretching I could do both because of my wound and because it would attract unwanted attention from the townspeople. Playing catch with Viktor gave me an excuse to go outside and romp around. One day when we were going at it, he tossed the ball to me and then lifted his hand, pretending to shoot it out of the sky with his palm. "Pew...ka-boom!" he narrated, and I laughed, caught off guard.

"Are you Iron Man?" I asked him. "Is that why you think you can blow up our ball with your hand?"

"Iron Man could do it, easy," the boy told me seriously. "The Avengers can do anything. He's my favorite. Which one's yours?"

For a moment I just blinked at him, thrown by the question. The Avengers weren't items, something to pick favorites out of...they were people. It seemed weird to even consider choosing a favorite when I'd never met them. But that must be how the outside world viewed it: they were superheroes, not fellow agents. People to aspire to be, not people whose orders you would have to follow to the letter if you ever met them. "Umm...Black Widow," I answered. "Or maybe Thor?" Thor was a safer choice. Asgardian, I'd probably never meet _him _in person.

Viktor made a face. "My mom doesn't like Black Widow. She says she is too American now when she used to be Russian. I think it's because she doesn't wear an apron like мама and the other ladies do." He caught the ball I tossed back. "You don't wear an apron either. Are you American?"

I laughed at his logic. "People in America wear aprons too, you know. Black Widow just doesn't as much because she doesn't spend all day in the kitchen cooking enough to feed you," I teased him. "How do you feel about Thor?"

"He's still not better than Iron Man," the boy replied positively. "Iron Man saved New York from a giant bomb."

"That's true," I laughed.

"Iron Man's awesome!" Viktor said. "Sometimes I like to climb trees and pretend I'm flying through the air like he does." Then he went running off as his mother called him away for lunch.

Then some days later there was a knock on my door. I opened to find Sergey with news. "The train is here. They are unloading supplies now."

"How long will it stay?" I asked, heart thumping in my chest, ready to jump into action.

"One, two hours, depending on the shipments," Sergey told me. "It is not a train for the transport of people. How do you plan on securing passage?"

"I'll ask," I told him.

"Ask?"

"Nicely."

After Sergey left to see to the products being delivered to his store I packed in a frenzy. I left the sheets folded up on the bed and the dishes washed in the cupboard, only taking with me the clothes I was currently wearing because as much as I had scrubbed the white blouse no blood still left a pink-brown stain. Everything I had brought with me fit back into the parachute pack, but I wished there was something I could leave behind as a token of gratitude.

I pulled on the pack and stepped outside with it's unfamiliar weight on my back. Viktor, who had been playing in the street, ran up to me. "Are you leaving?"

"Yeah, Viktor, I am," I said.

"Why?" he demanded. It was a fair question. I could make a life here, in this town. Ekaterina Ruslanova Denisov would be happy here, playing with Viktor and wandering the woods in peace. Viktor's mother had already made some casual mentions of jobs around town, in case I was interested.

But the bare truth of it was, I wasn't Ekaterina. She was a figment I'd made up in the spur of the moment and had grown to like when I had no other option. The Aleksandra Chaev hiding just beneath the surface would never be happy here. I'd never be happy without answers. Where was my team; did they survive the uprising? How many bases were secure? What's the international reaction to all of this going to be? Oh, and of course this one: _What the hell happened_?! I needed to find my team and return to S.H.I.E.L.D. It was to them I owed my allegiance, and being an agent was important. I was loyal to S.H.I.E.L.D., no matter how broken it might be right now.

"Because I need to go home," I told him seriously.

"Like to your parents?"

I considered the question. S.H.I.E.L.D. had been my guardian since I was a girl, swept out of a bad situation in Bahrain by an Asian woman—Agent Melinda May, to be exact—and dropped into a new life in America, with two parents who weren't dead in a nation of two hundred fifty million English-speakers. "Yes, like my parents," I told him. "So this is goodbye, okay?"

"But who am I going to play catch with?" he pouted.

"You'll find someone," I promised him blindly. "I wish I didn't have to leave you, but I do."

"Goodbye," he said sadly. I went into the house and bid goodbye to his mother and father next, last on my tiny list of people I cared for in Perigoyev. They wished me well on my journey home.

Then I hopped into the now empty boxcar of the train, hid in the shadows until someone on the outside closed the heavy steel doors, and was on my way.

* * *

**Back to true metropolitan civilization!**


	12. Cadet Assignments (2008)

**"Melinda" was great. Sadly, this story can no longer exist in the realm of partial canon. But at least the girl was Russian like Aleksandra ;)**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Academy of Operations  
1 April 2008  
12:59  
6 Years Prior to the HYDRA Uprising] _

"I am so nervous and so excited at the same time," Sabrina murmured to me. She was seated cross-legged on her bed, making it bounce up and down slightly with her tension.

"It's only for a year and a half," I reminded her.

"I can't believe you just used 'only' and 'year and a half' in the same sentence. But that's not even what I'm worried about! Alex, you do realize that this assignment pretty much decides our _entire_ futures within S.H.I.E.L.D., right?"

"I'm trying _not _to think about it."

"It's this, and then you return to the Academy for final testing, and you're a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. That's it. Can you believe we're almost through? I mean, I've got two more years after that to become a specialist, but...it'll go by so quickly."

"More than I believe we survived Fillmore's course," I said flatly. "I swear those tests were rigged."

Sabrina shrugged. "In all honesty, I cheated on _all _of those." At my look of incredulity and indignation, she added, "If he's not going to teach us the material, I think I'm perfectly licensed to get the information elsewhere and at the time of my choosing. Can you honestly say you learned anything in that class?"

"No," I sighed. I didn't exactly approve of Sabrina's actions, but I liked the way she stuck to her own moral code and didn't hesitate to headbutt the world when it wasn't working right. She was the only one I'd seen who was the exact same person as when she first stepped foot in the Academy as a sarcastic, joyful, strong-willed, and occasionally-slightly-inappropriate Korean national who'd spent her high school years in the United States.

"Come on, we should line up," I said, exiting our room with her close behind.  
"Where's Cam?" Sabrina asked Daniel as we met up with him in the commons.

"I told him to stay put," Daniel replied. "He doesn't need to be trampled by a perfectly in-sync marching crowd like the rest of us do. He doesn't have an assignment to look at."

"Why do they do it like this?" I grumbled. "Why not just send letters to our rooms? What's with the public sheets in the dead center of campus?"

"Uh, Alex, have you been asleep for the last three years here? One of their favorite pastimes is torturing us."

"Look, there it is," Daniel gestured forward at the woman pinning sheets of white paper onto an otherwise empty bulletin board. Cadets began streaming towards it, hastily falling into a straight, single-file line as the woman glanced at them. We hurried to join.

In front of us, the first few cadets were receiving their assignments. Some walked away with barely hidden euphoria or outright triumph, but others left stony-faced. My heart skipped a beat in my chest. Perhaps I should've studied harder for that tactics test two months ago, or not miscalculated that last shot at the range on my practical. "Judgment day," Daniel announced wryly as the group in front of us stepped forward. My heart pounded in my chest.

We moved forward, scanning the list of names quickly. "Daniel, I found you," I told him, pointing. He and I switched places. Carson, Chadwin, Chaev, Aleksandra. My eyes flicked to the next column. The Nest, operative. I breathed a sigh of relief and then remembered to step aside and let the next person in. I joined Daniel and Sabrina a little ways off from the sign. "So? So?" Sabrina danced a little excited dance; obviously she hadn't received bad news.

"Field agent out of the Hummingbird," Daniel grinned.

"The Hummingbird's _tiny_!" Sabrina exclaimed. "But it runs the best ops for tactical learning. It's the one that coordinates massive extractions for long-term undercovers, right? That's great, Daniel!"

"Thanks." He tried—and failed—to not look totally pleased with himself. "You, Aleksandra?"

"Nest as a standard operative," I smiled.

"So you'll be doing a bit of everything," Daniel nodded. "Security, field missions, you'll get a ton of experience."

"Except when I'm on guard duty," I laughed. "Standing still holding a heavy gun outside a locked door in a compound mostly under the ground as part of a top-secret intelligence organization with pull in over forty nations isn't exactly exciting."

Daniel cracked a smile. "Sabrina?"

She grinned. "Special operations out of Omega." Her eyes danced, and we both looked at her open-mouthed. "Thank you," she replied to our slack-jawed looks. Sabrina ducked her head, a little self-conscious.

"You're going to be, like, an assassin," I breathed.

"Hey," she chided me. "No a-word, remember?"

"You're going to be, like, an _assassin_," I repeated, sticking my tongue out at her. "You'll be able to kill us all in our sleep…"

She frowned incredulously. "Like I can't now? And the word is 'spy.' Or 'covert tactical asset.'"

"Assassin," Daniel nodded, agreeing with me. She rolled her eyes at our antics and then the smile slowly faded off her face.

"Well, I guess that's it then," Sabrina said. The excitement and anticipation drained away all of a sudden, and we were looking at each other uncertainly. There was a tightness in my chest the likes of which I'd never felt before.

"We're leaving two days from now," I said hollowly. "I know we agreed to never participate in Ditch Day, but…"

"Let's go into town," Sabrina agreed. "Do all the stuff you're supposed to do in college that we didn't get to here."

"No, guys, I can't," Daniel said regretfully. "I can't jeopardize my assignment to the Hummingbird by skipping the last day of classes. You guys can go, though. Bring back some chocolate."

"We're not going without you!" Sabrina punched him lightly in the arm. "If we're all not going, none of us are. Besides, we'd need your help to get Alex over the electric, barbed wire fence."

"Hey!" I glared at her. She held up her hands in mock surrender.

"Oh, okay, never mind if you've somehow learned how to vault over it like I can…" I narrowed my eyes at her before a smile took over.

"Curse you and your gymnastics training," I muttered. Then a new thought occurred to me. "Why don't we just get some on the black market and hang out in our room?" I suggested. "Sabrina, you know a guy?"

She smirked. "I know several guys. And I can haggle them down to the best prices."

Daniel shook his head. "I don't understand how she does it. She knows a guy in every field, but she spends all of her daylight time with us. And at night, the rooms are locked."

Sabrina raised an eyebrow at him. "You let a locked door stop you?"

Daniel and I turned to each other. "Assassin," we both said at the same time, and Sabrina's foot connected lightly with both my face and his in an impressive display of both grace and badassery.

"I still find it creepy how you can do that," Daniel confessed, rubbing his cheek. "That's scary flexible."

"Years of dance lessons," Sabrina reminded him. "I have speed, flexibility, and accuracy, you have strength, power, and endurance, and Alex is a jack-of-all-trades, master of nada."

"Jack-of-all-trades-minus-sharpshooting," I reminded her. "I did tell you how I almost took out the admin tower's top left window, right?"

"Right," Sabrina laughed. "If you ever become an assassin and set out to kill me with a long-range rifle, I'd be more worried about the guy standing next to me." I jabbed her sharply in the stomach before a shrill whistle sounded from the buildings, effectively cutting off our antics. We all sighed. "Class."

"Class."

"Class," Daniel agreed. We all sighed again in unison.

After class, roll call, dinner, and yet another roll call we were released to work on our outstanding assignments. The three of us, of course, along with Cam, headed up to Sabrina's and my room. It was an upgrade from when we first started here—being in our tercier year had its perks, and a roommate was one of them. It had been interesting to learn to live like that with someone, neither of us having done it before, but through a variety of compromises both of us had been alive come the end of the first month. Today when I arrived from my final class of Russian Language and Culture—one that was more difficult for me than I originally guessed it would be—Sabrina was already there, several bars of Dove chocolate sitting next to her on the bed. She was using her ElectriGlass intently, a device we'd been ecstatic to receive after two years of being cut off from all sophisticated electronics only to find the only thing we could do on it was check our grades and demerits. Whoopee.

"You owe me twenty-bucks," she said without looking up.

"Twenty? Why aren't Daniel and Cam going to pay their share?"

"They are," she shrugged. She set the ElectriGlass down. "Prices went up again, probably because of the combination of people celebrating like us and so disappointed they need high amounts of sugar to cheer them up."

"Great," I said sarcastically. "So what does that bring us up to, you owed me five, so now I owe fifteen?" She nodded as a soft knock sounded on the door. I opened it and Cam entered.

"Twenty bucks," she told him.

He muttered, "Rip off," before beginning to do the calculations like I had.


	13. Volga (2014)

**A little more than a week until AoU...just sayin'. :D**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Russia  
16 June 2014  
13:17  
2 Months After the HYDRA Uprising] _

Three days later, when my food had officially run out, the train slowed to a stop again. Little by little, the ear-splitting, headache-inducing ambient noise receded, leaving behind a blessed silence soon broken by my ears ringing profusely. It was a minute before I could detect voices, so I crouched in the corner of the boxcar, on the side of the large metal door. It slid open with a loud grating sound and the burst of sunlight just missed me. Two men boarded, taking the last of the crates with them. I leapt out as soon as their backs were turned, spinning and plunging myself beneath the car. Gravel scratched my wrists and legs and dug into my chin as my head bounced against one of the rails. I held still with my body flat and one knee dug into the ground until I watched their tennis shoes move away, and then I slipped out the other side and found myself in a small train depot. I slipped out the side door, snuck onto the back of a delivery truck, and was on my way into the city.

Once we were on a main city street full of people I jumped off and onto the sidewalk, my barrel roll ending in smashing into a trash can. With a nasty bruise to add to my collection of half-healed hurts, I tried my best to blend into the crowds on the sidewalk. Following the street signs—which were odd to see in Russian—I soon learned that I was in Volga. As far as I could remember, it was on neither the list of cities with S.H.I.E.L.D. bases that I'd had to learn for my Operations class on Russian Language and Culture nor on the list of cities with U.S. Embassies I'd learned for the Countries and Cities class for Communications to become an analyst. But it did, as I soon located, have an ATM machine sticking out of the side of a building. Trying not to look at the massive fees they were charging me for converting my American dollars into rubles, I extracted enough to get by and located a nearby café for some food and a place to sit. At a table by myself, I took off the parachute pack and leaned it on the ground up against my leg. I wasn't letting it out of my sight, and I needed my cell phone out of it. It was dead.

Next I pulled out Victoria's 4S, one of the items I'd salvaged off her body. Also out of battery. A month plus in the wilderness had taken its toll on my electronics, even if they'd been turned off. Annoyed, I contemplated my options as I awaited my drink and pastry. I could find an Apple store and requisition one of their charging cords for the display models. Problem was, I had no one to call. My first thought was still Victoria, and she was dead. Then Anna, Daniel, and Cam, but I hadn't seen Sabrina or Daniel since the Academy of Operations, over six years ago. Grant Ward's betrayal had sobered me to the fact that a lot could change in six years, and people don't always turn out the way you thought they would. No, what I needed were the contacts on Victoria Hand's phone—perhaps Agent Coulson or...or Melinda May. The Apple store wouldn't have the old power connectors attached, just the new ones, the Lightning Adapters that wouldn't work with Victoria's 4S.

Once I'd finished my meal, I continued down the street looking for an electronics store. Upon finding one, I ducked in and bought a knockoff cable and a wall charger. With those safely stowed away in my pack, I checked into a slightly decrepit-looking hotel under the name Ekaterina Denisov and paying cash in advance for a two-night stay.

The floorboards creaked and the room smelled musty, but the bed seemed clean enough and the bathroom ran clean water. I dropped my pack on my bed and plugged Victoria's phone into the wall. After a few minutes the Apple logo lit up the screen, and then it asked for a password. I knew it, and it let me in.

Sixteen missed calls from Maria Hill. Two from Coulson. Three from an unknown number.

I went straight for the contacts, sitting on the ground so that I would have enough cable length to bring it up to my ear when the time came. A, B, C, Coulson. He was in there. I tapped his name and then his number and listened for the sound of it ringing. "The director's phone, Hartley speaking," came a female voice on the other end after three or four rings. I ended the call. Not Coulson, probably some company's phone or something. I returned to the contacts list and scrolled downward to Maria Hill.

"Victoria?" Agent Hill answered, sounding relieved. "Victoria, is that you?"

"No, I'm sorry," I told her.

Hill immediately turned hostile. "Then who are you and how did you get her phone?"

"My name is Agent Aleksandra Chaev, and she was my SO. I was on the plane transporting John Garrett to the Fridge."

"Then where's Victoria?"

"Grant Ward shot her. He's HYDRA."

Hill was silent on the other end for a minute. "Why did it take you this long to contact me?"

"Because I jumped out of the jet with a parachute. I was shot on the way down, and cell reception is bad around the Fridge," I told her impatiently.

"Where are you now?" Hill asked.

"Volga, Russia. All I have for identification is my S.H.I.E.L.D. ID, and I figured with HYDRA infiltrations left and right it wouldn't be good to flash that around. They think I'm dead, and I'd like it to stay that way until I'm at least safe back in the States."

"You're right that it's not safe to be flashing your badge around, but not for the reason you think," Hill sighed. "The world's governments aren't exactly friendly with S.H.I.E.L.D. right now. They're one step away from branding it a terrorist organization." She paused. "A lot has changed since April. S.H.I.E.L.D., in any official capacity, has ceased to exist, and I am no longer associated with it in the eyes of the world. But since when does the world ever know the truth about everything that's going on? You seem to have answers that could fill in a lot of holes we've had in the last couple months." She sounded tired, resigned. "I work in the private sector now. Stark hates it when I do this, but there's a Stark Industries jet about to fly back from Moscow that can pick you up, no questions asked. It'll land in New Brunswick, and there I'll have a car waiting to take you to Stark Tower."

"When will the plane arrive?"

"I'm contacting the pilot now. It should be within the hour. They'll be touching down for as short a time as possible to keep up with they timetable, so you'll need to be ready to go. There's an small, private airfield north of Volga; you'll want to head there."

"How will I recognize it?"

Maria snorted. "It'll be the boulder amid pebbles with STARK INDUSTRIES emblazoned across the tail end. Tony doesn't believe in doing things small. Or subtle."

"Got it. Thank you for the assistance, Agent Hill."

"I'm sorry, I missed your name."

"Aleksandra Chaev," I told her.

"Have a safe flight, Agent Chaev," she replied. "I'll see you in a few hours."

I clicked end, setting the phone down. I was going home.


	14. The Nest (2009)

**Thank you for reading :)**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: The Nest  
14 August 2009  
5:54  
5 Years Prior to the HYDRA Uprising] _

I yawned and looked at the clock. Thirty-six minutes until shift start. The temptation to roll over and go back to sleep in the face of six hours standing still on my feet in body armor was strong, but I resisted, pushing myself up on my elbows before letting my feet touch the ground. Standing and stretching, I yawned again and approached the closet, sliding open the door. I selected one of the three identical S.H.I.E.L.D. Operations uniforms hanging there and turned to lay it on the bed.

The room was small, but no smaller than my original, single-occupancy one from the Academy. The bed had soft, dark blue sheets and I no longer had to stretch the blankets to taut when making it to pass inspection, because there was no inspection. Besides the blue eagle on my uniform patches, I was treated as a full S.H.I.E.L.D. agent. I dressed quickly, pulling on the pants, shirt, and combat boots first and slinging the jacket over one arm.

I left my room for the cafeteria to grab a quick bite to eat before heading up to the armory. Agents mostly ignored me as I went by, some on their own headed to their workstation and some in heavily-armed teams embarking on missions. In the armory, other cadets and full agents were suiting up for the six-thirty shift just like I was. Agent Donofrio, who was in charge of the shifts and kept them running smoothly, handed me my size of body armor off the rack. I put the bulky vest on, zipped it up, and pulled my jacket on over it. Next he handed me a large assault rifle, different from the usual. "Latest issue," he told me. "Alarm's attached to the trigger. You shoot, it sounds."

"Got it," I took it from him, positioning it in the crook of my shoulder with the muzzle pointed at the ground.

"Listen up, agents," he called, addressing all of us. "Security's going to be tight today. We've got some high level agents visiting, so everything's going to be extra vigilant." He looked down at his tablet. "Nolan, Chaev, you're outside Conference Room One. Meggim, Linford, Central Command. And Boyd and Northcraft, you're at check-in on the flight deck. Regular comm channel."

"Yes, sir," we all responded.

"Report to your posts until you are relieved, around twelve thirty," he dismissed us. It was the first time we'd had visiting higher-ups. Usually it was a level eight agent or someone who's long-term cover had just been terminated. Rumor had it that a few weeks before my arrival Commander Hill had visited as well. But basically, it was business as usual. Guard duty was one of my least favorite activities, but I was scheduled for a mission off-base tomorrow morning, so that would break the monotony. The only interesting thing about standing outside rooms full of classified information is that sometimes you overhear some of it, stuff that would get you fired faster than you could blink if you ever repeated it. And possibly cause an assassin like Hawkeye to come after you, although S.H.I.E.L.D. would have to have you labeled a terrorist for that first.

Most of us would like to avoid being branded terrorists and being used as target practice, so we keep our mouths shut.

The first hour of my shift was pretty standard. Lots of people passing by under my scrutiny. A file of agents with serious expressions filing into the conference room where they proceeded to discuss matters of utmost importance. It was around ten forty-two, as I would later write in my report, that the alarm bells went off.

At first, exactly like we aren't supposed to, I just stood there stunned. That cacophony of sounds was for a level five security breach, one that I'd only participated in drills for. It meant full tactical suits and assault rifles, and for everyone else to lock themselves in a room somewhere.

After an electrifying moment of shock and/or panic, protocol training kicked in and I ran for the armory, clicking my earpiece to the base-wide channel. "Three hostiles, I repeat, three hostiles in the East Wing Corridor A. Requesting immediate backup, requesting immediate-!" The man's comm cut out.

"Counting six more in Corridor B, they are heading for a stairwell." I pulled on a huge bulletproof jacket over my clothes and lifted a heavy helmet onto my shoulders. Peripheral vision was limited, but the glass shield in front of my eyes was pristine. "East corridor?" I nodded to Nolan, dressing beside me.

"Yep."

"We're right behind you," two more said. We took off for that section, using our IDs to get us through the lockdown initiated. We were joined by three more men along the way, Nolan communicating with the others as we jogged. All of a sudden we rounded the corner to come faced to face with eight guns pointed at us, and we all scrambled for cover as the bullets started flying.

I skidded along the floor a few feet firm the force of my dive, keeping my weapon cradled to my chest and the muzzle aimed away from me. Blinking away stars I pushed myself into a kneeling position and peered around the corner, pulling back quickly as more bullets sprayed my way. I forced myself to look out again, identifying three men in ski masks with machine guns and five more sporting various types of automatic weaponry. I got a couple shots off before having the pull back again. Across from me, sequestered in the other hallway, were Nolan and the two from the armory. One of them was on his back, helmet discarded and leaking red from his midsection. Nolan was pressing his ungloved hands to the fount and the other was at his head, calling for medical and trying to keep him conscious.

I threw myself back into the fray, taking aim randomly and firing in a straight line across the hallway, attempting to stop their advance. One of the men fell back, hit, but the rest simply ducked for cover and peppered shots our way. Then there was a loud boom, a bright light, and my head hit the wall.


	15. Safehouses (2014)

**Enjoy! This has been one of my favorite chapters to write so far because...well, you'll see in a minute ;)**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Stark Tower  
17 June 2014  
15:26  
2 Months After the HYDRA Uprising] _

In all honesty, I'd never been to New York City before. I only knew so much about it-that it was the location of Stark Tower, that the aliens had invaded, and that somewhere it contained both the iconic Brooklyn Bridge and elsewhere the Statue of Liberty. At least, I was _pretty_ sure those were located in New York.

First impression: it was big. Huge. Gargantuan. And I was just talking about Stark Tower. High up at the tippy-top, I could just make out the giant letters of the millionaire's name glowing white against the skyline. Around me on the sidewalk, people bustled by every which way and cars moved slowly through the crowded streets. In front of the tower was a large, cordoned off area protected by no less than six bodyguards. A gaggle of girls to the left pointed and giggled in skimpy clothing, occasionally waving enthusiastically up at the tower as if someone was looking out a window to see them. One wore two Captain America's shields across the top half of her tank top and another seemed to have painted herself entirely green and kept striking provocative poses up at the tower.

"Sweaty cosplay girls," the security detail's leader grumbled. "This way, Miss Chaev." He nodded to the rest of the detail who'd showed up in Hill's van in New Brunswick to see me safely to New York. I wondered if that was what life was like for the higher-ups-cars waiting for them, security details, and huge-ass towers that seem to split the sky.

I followed him to the edge of the cordoned off area and one of the guards unhooked the line from the pole to let us inside. "The tower has over seventy-five floors," he explained as the doors to the complex slid open and a burst of cold air enveloped us. "The top three are reserved for Mr. Tony Stark and Ms. Pepper Potts, and the the three below that contain guest rooms and amenities for when Mr. Stark has visitors like the Avengers or other ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. friends. The floors below that are office space and research and development." I glanced around at the large foyer surrounded by four elevators, two made of glass and two steel. There were various items on display, as if Stark liked to keep memorabilia around for those peering in the windows from outside. Or to impress his guests who were just arriving. "The bottom two floors were open to the public for special tours until about a year ago until the first appearance of the Mandarin. Mr. Stark decided that it was no longer safe to have random people wandering around at the base of his entire infrastructure, so he closed it and cordoned off the area outside. You don't have any weapons on you, do you?"

"Actually I do," I confessed, pulling out the ICER. "It's non-lethal, but..."

"I'm afraid I'll have to take that, just as a precaution," the man said, and I handed it over without complaint.

"What about security inside?" I asked.

"His computer AI, nicknamed JARVIS, helps with some of that," he said. "And there are guards posted at every elevator once we go up." He gestured for me to go inside the metal box, waited for the doors to close, and then announced, "Andrew Hanson and guest," to nobody in particular.

"Guest, please state your name for future identification," a cool male voice replied. I look to Hanson, who nodded.

"Aleksandra Chaev," I said clearly.

"How may I help you, Mr. Hanson and Miss Chaev?" JARVIS asked.

"Take us to Maria Hill," Hanson requested.

"Of course. Miss Hill is currently located in her office. Ascending to the forty-fifth floor." The elevator didn't jerk once as it lifted us smoothly up and up and up. Some hard rock began playing quietly in the background, probably another of Stark's personalizations. After what seemed liked forever, JARVIS spoke again. "You have arrived at the forty-fifth floor." The doors slid open to reveal a hallway with warm vanilla walls and shiny brass door handles.

"This is where I leave you," Hanson told me. He rubbed his shoulder. "The private sector's not all that bad, if that's what you choose to do. I do miss S.H.I.E.L.D. though." I smiled and nodded. "Take the first left turn and it'll be the one at the end of the hall with the huge view of Manhattan," he advised. "Good luck."

I set off in that direction, trying to forget exactly how high up in the air I was. Heights...never my thing, although they do try to whip that out of you in Operations. You would think jumping out a plane would kind of negate all future fear of falling, but the amount of pain I'd been in from getting shot while plummeting certainly hadn't put the falling part in the best of light.

I rounded the corner cautiously at the sound of angry, hushed voices from somewhere in that direction. The door at the end of the hall-the one that was supposedly Agent Hill's door-was closed and an angry female voice sounded from inside. "No, Maria! How many times do I have to tell you, no! I blew all of my covers for Steve and to oust HYDRA, and I just spent over a month gaining a few more. You can't know about them, Stark can't know about them, even Clint can't! If you want another safe haven for agents overseas then you'll have to ask Fury for the locations of his secret bases. He has several, and _they_ weren't in the S.H.I.E.L.D. files Steve forced me to release to the public. Don't ask me again!" The door flew open and a woman with scarlet hair stormed out, a man carrying a cylindrical tube on his back following her and placing his hand on her shoulder, steering her into one of the rooms nearby.

"Nat, you need to think about this."

"What's there to think about, Clint?" she demanded. "You know why I have those covers, those safehouses. Why I have to keep them."

"She's only asking for one, Nat...you could help her out."

"When 'one' was one out of several dozen, I would have considered it. When it was requested by was an organization I _trusted_, I would have considered it."

"You of all people should know the difference between S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA. You were in the thick of it; you were down in Zola's bunker."

"I also watched those helicarriers take off into the sky."

"And you saw how far Fury was willing to go to correct that error in judgment. This isn't you, Natasha. As much as you work alone, you're a team player at heart. You always have been. There are agents out there Maria wants to protect, agents as lost as you once were, but you aren't going to do what you can to help them? It's not you."

"Then who am I, Barton?" the Black Widow said it so softly I almost missed it. They hadn't felt the need to close the door, thinking themselves alone in the hall. "Who am I? Because I don't know anymore. When I released my history and all the things I've done to the judgment of the world, I felt like I'd erased my identity."

"You're Natalia," he answered. "Natalia Romanova."

"And who is that? Who is Natalia, because I thought she was killed a long time ago? Who is Natasha? Who is...?" The upset in her voice was evident. I had always admired Agent Romanoff. We had a lot in common. We were both Russian, with ties to the Soviet Union. She'd lost her family at a young age, like me. She worked for S.H.I.E.L.D., like me. She was formidably kickass and an incredible actress, unlike me. But this didn't feel like acting. It felt real, and like something both Black Widow and Hawkeye would kill me for listening in on. And yet, I couldn't seem to make my feet move from their spot.

"Clint, I just...I feel like a puppet on a string. Don't you know what this business really is, past the speeches about protection and the greater good? Espionage is just the solution to the paranoia of governments protecting their precious regimes," she said, speaking rapidly. Her voice had shifted from upset to dull. "You learn quickly that everyone has an end game, and you learn to anticipate them and stay one step ahead. You learn that having a multitude of fabricated personas is more valuable than having one real one. You learn that you can never truly tell friend from foe until it's too late, and revealing your heart, your vulnerabilities, is more likely to end with a bullet in your head than yield an ally. And for what? To play pawn to any one of a dozen governments waiting to dispose of you the moment you've outlasted your immediate usefulness because you've succeeded in becoming the dispassionate entity they required.

"I thought S.H.I.E.L.D. was different. I thought I was flying straight this time. They weren't the government of some country, constantly jockeying for power and influence and to gain the upper hand against threats real or imagined, but an organization dedicated to the protection of people everywhere, regardless of nationality or religion or gender or whatever other constructs we humans like to use to classify ourselves. Our charges were the citizens of Earth. But I was just another pawn of a desperate grab for power and control and domination. A pawn of HYDRA. You and I, we call ourselves Avengers, but we're not like Steve and the others. We're not heroes. We are tools. And tools get used." Barton made a move to interrupt, but Romanoff cut him off. "It's worse than not knowing who I am, Clint. It's worse than the world knowing who I am while I still do not. _I don't know who I want to be. _I don't know what course will ever make me feel meaningful. Make me feel happy. I'm not even sure that's possible anymore."

"Natasha, I can't speak to what will make you happy in the end," Barton told her in a low voice. "But I am an ally, I am a friend. Your friend. And I do know you, Nat, the you you've presented to me. And is like to think that that you is the real you, because I've never asked for anything else. You might be used to lying to the world, but I'm the guy you tell the truth to, about everything." She stared at him for a few seconds before giving the tiniest of nods. "I've seen it all-I've seen you in your dark days, when I was sent to kill you, and I've seen you acting like a hero, taking down aliens on the streets of New York. I've even seen you _cognitively_ _recalibrate _my brain. And I like the you that you've shown me. She's not a heartless killer, she's not a spy made of steel, she's not a mask. I've watched you go off on enough missions to know that my you is the one you put the mask _over_, not the other way around."

Romanoff looked down at the floor. "Maybe you're right."

"Do you trust me?"

"What?"

"Do you trust me?" he repeated.

"You should know never to ask a spy that," she told him.

"I'm not talking to a spy right now. I'm talking to a person. And if I've been wrong about this whole thing and I really am, I'd like her to give me her Widow's Bite now."

"I trust you."

"And I'm your friend?"

"Almost my one and only."

"Then trust me to look out for you on this. Trust me when I say S.H.I.E.L.D. is the right place to be right now."

"I'm not giving up my safehouses," she said flatly.

"I won't ask you to again," Barton told her. "I know what they mean to you, what they represent. They're your safety net. I won't take that away from you. I know you're loyal, or you want to be. You need a cause, Nat-I know the only time you were ever truly unhappy was not in Red Room or in the KGB, but when you were freelancing, when you were taking any job as it came without considering their moral implications. When you were drifting. When you were without something to fight for, to believe in, whether it be the USSR or the United States. As your friend, I'm asking you to trust me: let me guide you. Let S.H.I.E.L.D. be the thing you're loyal to right now. It's not broken, not completely. We need you."

"Okay," she uttered. "Okay, yes, Clint, I trust you. I'll stay with S.H.I.E.L.D."

"It's more than just a job, Nat, and Fury's more than just a boss. And I'll be here for you." ...Fury?

"Not always," she said bitterly. "One day you'll be gone, and I'll be alone."

"Are you calling me old?" he asked teasingly, but she would not let go of the dark.

"You know the procedures they did to me in Red Room. People look at me and they think I'm twenty-five, thirty, but they're wrong. I'll outlast you, I'll outlast Stark, Fury...Red Room's version of the Super Soldier Serum will eventually leave me alone. I already lost you once, to Loki. I don't want to ever experience that again."

Barton sighed. "Everyone's alone eventually. And it's all the more reason to find a place at S.H.I.E.L.D. first." He placed his hand on her arm and she leaned in, resting her chin on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her. They stayed like that for more than a minute before Romanoff pulled away, wiping her eyes on the back of her hands. I scooted backwards as fast as I could as they exited the room together, but neither looked my way as they went down the adjoining hallway.

I breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were out of earshot, looking down and collecting myself. The scene in there was...intense. Something that tugged at my heart, reminded me that others had even more stakes in this. Who had lost as much as me, perhaps even more. My faith in S.H.I.E.L.D. wasn't broken. Just my faith in the people working for it.

But Fury? They talked as if he was alive. Could it be a massive cover-up?

I knocked on Maria Hill's door before entering. She looked up, reaching for a desk drawer before retracting her hand to her lap and forcing a smile. "Agent Chaev, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Please, there's no need for that. I'm not S.H.I.E.L.D.'s commander anymore. For anyone who's still flying the S.H.I.E.L.D. banner-well, they're a friend. It's just Maria. Now, take a seat and we can get started." She indicated the chair in front of her desk. "You must have a ton of questions about the last couple months, and I have a few for you as to what exactly happened on the way to the Fridge. I'm hoping we can help each other."

* * *

**As I said before, one of my favorite chapters. Black Widow's views on everything were largely based off of a Marvel graphic novel I read once about her and my own perception of the character from the movies. **

**I'm off to see AoU tonight...it's going to be epic! :D I hope all of you get to see it soon if you haven't already!**


	16. Waking Up (2009)

**Hope you all are well! And that you've seen the latest SHIELD episode, because if not you're missing out on amazingness.**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: The Nest Hospital Ward  
16 August 2009  
7:06  
5 Years Prior to the HYDRA Uprising] _

"Welcome back, Cadet Chaev," said a vaguely familiar voice. My sticky eyelids cracked open, and a moment later all of the sensations flooded to me in one large overload. The bright white lights of the room. The whirring and beeping of the machines. The itch of my arms and hands where IVs snaked beneath my skin. The stickiness of electrodes dotting my forehead and temples and across my chest. And, above all, the inferno slowly gaining heat in my ribcage as I became more aware or my surroundings. A strange man sat at my bedside, and it took a minute to identify him as Agent Donofrio, my commander while on guard duty.

Guard duty...white lights, white walls, white bed… Was this the infirmary? Last I remembered, I was...I was...on guard duty. Nothing that explained how I had ended up here. Although the pain in my chest might suggest having gotten hit by a truck.

"Agent Chaev, can you hear me?" he asked.

"Yes," I croaked. "What happened? Where am I?"

"There was a situation while you were on guard duty," he replied. "Do you remember it?"

"I was standing outside Conference Room One," I recalled. "Then...then there was...a siren?"

"Yes," he confirmed. "Agent Ridley opened fire and it activated the alarm. There were intruders in the Nest. Do you remember confronting them?"

"I think so," I replied uncertainly. Images flashed before my eyes. Men with guns. Ski masks. Shooting. Someone on the ground, shot, the other agents attempting to give first aid. Shooting someone myself. And then...nothing. "Did I...did I get shot?" My hands immediately found the edge of the bedcovers and pulled them back to reveal the hospital gown I was wearing. There were bandages underneath it, wrapped around my entire ribcage.

"No, it was a grenade," Donofrio told me. "Shrapnel everywhere. The big pieces were stopped by your vest, but one of them got through and hit the underarmor of your suit. You've got a heavily bruised ribcage, but the scans showed nothing broken. The biggest issue the doctors had to face was your head."

"My head, sir?"

"The blast hit it pretty hard against the wall. Your helmet even cracked, and you were knocked unconscious. You were unconscious for two days with a bad concussion."

"Two...days…" I tried to reconcile that with my brain. "So it's...so it's Tuesday?" He nodded. "How's everyone else?"

Donofrio appeared pained. "Nolan sustained heavier injuries than you since he had taken off his helmet, but the doctors are estimating that he will recover. Meggim has only minor injuries, but Linford is gone. The strike teams arrived just after the grenade went off and managed to take out the men, but not without further casualties. Two more agents are dead."

"Who were they?" I asked. "The men who attacked? And why? Sir," I added hastily.

"Why is an ongoing investigation," he informed me. "We know what-or, I should say, _who_-their target was, but not their organization. They never could have made it as far as they did without some strong backing. Their target was Director Fury. He was the reason for the extra security around the base that day, and it turns out that and more was necessary."

I pushed myself upwards in bed, struggling to move without setting my ribs aflame. "What happens now?"

"Well, that's mostly what I'm here to talk about," Donofrio said. "You know you're scheduled to return to the Academy at the end of August, a week and a half by now?"

"Of course," I nodded. Mistake. Sudden headache. Ow.

"We've subbed in a replacement for tomorrow's mission," he began, "but I'm afraid your graduation from the Academy might have to be delayed because of this."

"They're not holding it against me, are they?" I interrupted, then caught myself. "Sorry, sir."

"At ease, Cadet," he smiled, but returned to his graver countenance. "You have served admirably at the Nest, and have received good reports from myself and all of the team leaders you've gone on missions under. You were injured in the defense of the base; of course we wouldn't hold that against you. The problem lies in your injuries." He sighed. "The final testing at the Academy is very strenuous. The fifteen-mile run, I believe, is the most infamous, but it doesn't stop there. Due to your concussion, the doctors wish you to stay in the infirmary another two days for observation and then you will be forbidden from physical activity for another three weeks while your ribs heal. You won't be able to graduate from the Academy this year."

"Can't they just delay my testing?" I asked reasonably. "Considering the circumstances..."

"The new Academy director has insisted on running a tight ship. He'll hold examinations exactly two weeks of the year, the first two of September."

"So...so what are my options, sir?"

"Well, you can return to the Academy, train for another year. Maybe start the track to be a specialist, if that's what you want. You could also try for a new assignment, although there is no precedent for two years as a cadet. The third option is a transfer."

"Transfer? I thought those weren't allowed."

"Normally they aren't, as a deterrent to switching out for an easier position. But there is always an exception when it comes from the top."

"You don't mean Fury, sir?"

"He's been kept up to date with all of the medical and autopsy reports for the six of you. Fury is...a good director. He cares. If I submitted a transfer request for you with it, I think he'll give it a fair look."

I thought for a minute, looking down at my blanket. Fisting it between my fingers, I replied, "A field analyst. It's not what I expected, but..."

"It'll most likely be an accelerated program," Donofrio explained. "I would estimate a year at the Academy of Communications, given your marks at Operations. You know the tactics, the logistics, everything needed to run an op, just from the point of view of the man on the ground. In Communications, you'll just adapt that to the other side."

"That's what I want to do, then," I told him. "Thank you, sir."


	17. Stark Tower (2014)

**That season finale...well, it's a good thing we have a season 3 on the way. And a second season of Agent Carter too! Yay :)**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Stark Tower  
17 June 2014  
16:00  
2 Months After the HYDRA Uprising] _

"What do you want to know?" I asked cautiously. My eyes instinctively swept the office, from the large window with a view of the New York skyline to the neat piles of reports on Agent Hill's desk.

"Well, obviously our version of events has a few holes in it that no one has been able to answer. Let's start chronologically, and I'll explain what you missed as we go. In April, Director Fury was killed and we learned that S.H.I.E.L.D. had been infiltrated by HYDRA since World War II. Their end goal was to take control using a system of helicarriers armed with guns and advanced targeting programs to eliminate anyone who was or would someday become a threat. The helicarriers, a project code-named Insight, was privy only to the highest levels and one man in particular: Undersecretary Alexander Pierce, who turned out to be HYDRA. Fury realized how dangerous those helicarriers would be, and when he began having suspicions about people working within S.H.I.E.L.D. he tried to shut the project down but was too late. However, Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff managed to disable and crash the helicarriers before they could reach the necessary altitude." I felt my eyebrows slowly rising as she continued talking. "In the process, HYDRA broadcasted its coming-out message to activate all of their hidden agents. Nearly all of the bases were similarly affected as the Hub." She paused. "In order to execute their plan, Agent Romanoff had to release all of S.H.I.E.L.D.'s sensitive information to the world-the good and the bad. Unfortunately, in light of the helicarriers and HYDRA insurgents, the public chose to see the bad. The world's nations closed their borders to S.H.I.E.L.D. and some even began rounding up agents living there like criminals. We were too busy with our internal scramble to pay much attention to the outside, and when we were finally stable enough to look around we saw that they had decided our fate for us. It didn't help that there were very few we could turn over to the authorities screaming for a scapegoat. Most of the HYDRA insurgents were dead or, like Garrett, out of our reach. Which brings us to, what did happen on that jet? And why were you aboard?"

It took me a second to find my voice, given all the revelations she'd just dropped on me. "Agent Hand asked me to help her implement some new security protocols for the Fridge to make sure it stayed in our hands," I answered. "I was in the small hold underneath the main cabin uploading the protocols to a flash drive we could take in with us. I heard Victoria suggest to Ward that he just shoot Garrett for his crimes, and then the shots went off. It was too quiet, and there were too many shots. When I opened the panel to look through the grating to see what had happened, Agent Hand's body was draped across it. Ward had killed her and the two guards, and I realized he had fooled all of us. Ward was HYDRA."

"That much we figured out," Hand nodded, a bite to her tone. "He kidnapped one of Coulson's team members to try to get her to decrypt a hard drive, killed another in cold blood, and dropped two out of an airplane into the ocean. When Agent May got ahold of him, she busted him up. He and Garrett are dead. But you, how did you escape?"

"Good," I said, eyes flashing. Dead was more than they deserved. "Garrett and Ward went to the Fridge. I took the pilot hostage and took one of the parachutes with Victoria's body and a medkit. Ward and Garrett must have realized they weren't alone because they opened fire on me and the plane. It blew up and I ended up with one in the shoulder. I patched myself up as best I could, used what was in the med kit until I was strong enough to walk. I kept moving, in case Garrett or Ward decided to make sure I was really dead. At that point, I was the only one who knew about Ward's betrayal."

"You didn't walk all the way to Volga?" Hill questioned.

"No," I replied. "It was two weeks of travel before I found a town, and I rested there until the train arrived. I stole away on that, and when I got to the city I contacted you."

"That's an...amazing story," Hill told me. "You're not the only agent I've brought back from some country or another, but most of their journeys included hunkering down and secret communiqués, not being shot and stitching themselves up on the run. Do you have any questions about what's happened since you disappeared?"

"How many bases are left?"

Hill sighed. "Very few, but those we have seem to have stabilized. Director Coulson, not without reason, is focusing more on keeping S.H.I.E.L.D. alive than reestablishing its global network. If he needs something done halfway across the world, he'll fly there."

"So he replaced Fury?"

"Yes," Maria Hill appeared strained, sad.

"What about other agents? My team wasn't at the Hub when HYDRA emerged; they were on mission. I don't know what it was."

"Their names?" Hill requested, opening her laptop.

"Clark Mathis, Mitchell Young, Lauren Davis, Adrianna Mendel, Cameron Hunt," I listed off. She typed them in, brow furrowing slightly.

"I'm sorry, all of them are MIA. They were co-opting with a second team in London to deal with a experimentation lab there. It looks like the lab was confirmed to be shut down, but neither team ever made it back to base. Their jet was later found empty and abandoned in the Canadian wilderness."

"So someone on my team or that one was HYDRA," I stated calmly, though inside it was hard to believe it could ever be someone on _my_ team.

"It looks like it, yes," Hill reluctantly agreed. "If you're all caught up, we need to discuss your future."

My eyes narrowed. "What do you mean, my future?"

"Well, there are currently four options for you. First, you can leave. Get a new identity, a new home, lead a new, normal life with no affiliation with S.H.I.E.L.D. at all."

"You have the resources to do that?"

"It's a new program we've begun," Hill explained. "The blueprints were found in Fury's files, but two new agents have taken it and made it into a reality. Fury referred to it as Project Phoenix and considered it to be a 'final act' if S.H.I.E.L.D. should ever fall apart. It'll give you a new life, the one you would have had if you had never even heard of S.H.I.E.L.D. in the first place."

"And the second option?" I asked.

"Work as a part of PHOENIX," she replied. "It's top secret work, even more than the new S.H.I.E.L.D. Director Coulson's building is. He has to work with governments to some extent, earn back their trust. PHOENIX operates completely under the radar. Countries don't want us turning agents into civilians, they want to keep track of them, monitor them, maybe even put them on trial. PHOENIX offers a way out." She closed her laptop again. "The third is to work in the private sector, like me, most likely for Tony Stark. He's virtually the only name in the business with enough high-powered lawyers to employ ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but you get to keep your identity, your history. It's what I chose."

"How does he treat you?" I asked without really thinking about it.

"He says we're all too uptight and that we ruin his creativity with our protocol-ness," Hill answered with a wry smile. "When someone gives a report he doesn't agree with he likes to make a joke about how enlisting him only as a consultant was the first step in a list of mistakes that caused S.H.I.E.L.D. to fall. But he does call us dedicated and hard-working."

"I see," I said neutrally, watching her carefully.

"The fourth is to apply to join Coulson and continue as a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent."

"Apply?"

"He's cautious. He wants to rebuild without fear of a HYDRA plant in his midst, so he's being very careful about who he takes on from the old S.H.I.E.L.D." She paused. "So, what do you think?"

"You forgot an option," I told her. She raised an eyebrow. "Jump ship and join HYDRA." Her eyes hardened. "I'm an analyst; I look at every option, even those that make my skin crawl," I said by way of an apology. "Can I have some time to think about it?"

"Of course," Hill replied. "For now I'll arrange for you to stay in Stark Tower via JARVIS and reach out to those in charge of PHOENIX, tell them I've located another agent. Just rest and maybe get your bullet wound looked at. In a few days, you can give me your answer."

And at that moment, I already knew what it was going to be. "Thank you," I said, standing. I paused by the door. "You didn't choose to work for Stark Industries, did you?"

"Hmm?"

"It wasn't your choice. With your face all over the news in connection to S.H.I.E.L.D. and Fury's death, you couldn't assume a new identity. You were too well-known. You couldn't just disappear and run PHOENIX, too many questions would be asked. And joining Coulson would just bring old S.H.I.E.L.D. baggage over to the new command. Stark was your only option."

"You're perceptive, Agent Chaev," she observed. "That's a good quality in an agent." She waved her hand to signal my dismissal.

Outside the room, the hallway was quiet. "JARVIS?" I asked uncertainly, on the verge of feeling incredibly stupid.

"How may I help you, Miss Chaev?" he responded back.

"Guide me to my room?"

"Certainly. Turn right and take the elevator to the sixty-ninth floor. I will meet you there." Still slightly unnerved by the disembodied voice, I nevertheless did what he said and found myself in another hallway that looked a lot like the one from which I'd just come, except the doors were more spaced apart and had electronic placards with names of the residents on them. "Five doors down to the right," JARVIS said.

"Thank you." I approached the door and cautiously laid a hand on it. The door opened of its own accord, and I looked up to see the dot of a security camera-and apparently facial recognition-watching me. Stark really did have all the coolest toys. Inside was a queen-sized bed, a dresser, a closet, a nightstand, and a desk. The bathroom was spacious and I felt grimy just looking at the polished shower.

Everything was spacious, and it didn't feel like my room. I was used to living in small spaces-the small bedrooms I'd had as a child, the limited space at the Academy, the seven-by-seven at the Hub, the cozy little house in Perigoyev. Comparatively, this was a mansion. It felt _wrong_.

I stashed most of my belongings in the drawer of the nightstand and the parachute bag in the closet. The only items I kept with me were the two S.H.I.E.L.D. badges in my pocket. When I returned, however, I was so laden with bags that one of the security guards on the way in offered to help me carry them. I politely turned him down.

I set them down in the corner and locked the door. I dug out an outfit of civilian clothing that I had collected from various shops along the street and took them to the bathroom. Turning the water on and stripping down, I stepped in the shower underneath a scalding spray. Of course there was a shower in my house in Perigoyev, but there was no comparison to water hot enough to light up every nerve lacing my skin. After scrubbing down every inch of my body, I turned the water off, wrapped myself in a towel, and stood in front of the steamy mirror. I cleared a patch with my hand, staring myself down.

Hard brown eyes stared evenly back at me, above a small nose, stiff lips, and a chin with a slight point at the tip. Ears nearly concealed by wet, chocolate-hued hair. A furrow of the brow that was now a constant, as I didn't even realize I'd been frowning at all.

_Who am I? _Romanoff's words echoed through my mind as I stared at myself, and an overwhelming need to answer the question consumed me. Who was I? It was too hard to answer, and I dropped my gaze and dressed quickly in the casual jeans and T-shirt I had bought for myself before daring to look in the mirror again.

Okay, if I couldn't answer as to who I was, who could I become? Pulling on a persona seemed the easiest option. The real me was a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, but right now that word was synonymous with 'terrorist.' So, not an agent then. Just a normal twenty-seven-year-old crashing in someone else's place in NYC. Portray the woman I would be had I not joined S.H.I.E.L.D. Paint my nails and do my hair. Play the part.

By the time I was done, one thing was clear to me. Civilian life didn't come naturally. I'd been aspiring to be or had been an agent for too long. I'd never be able to sit down at a restaurant without clearing the place visually first and sitting in the corner and I'd always be collating data. Those were ingrained in me now, a part of who I was. And I, in one way, was good with that. It made my future plans easier. I entertained no fantasies of leaving this way of life.

Walking out of the bathroom, I placed my dirty clothes in the basket marked for laundry, wondering if Stark provided that service. Just in case, I removed the two S.H.I.E.L.D. badges from the pocket of Victoria's suit jacket. Besides the S.H.I.E.L.D. IDs, I didn't need my credit card and driver's license going through the wash, tucked as they were behind my official agency ID. I wondered if Victoria had stashed anything behind hers. Flipping it open, I slid the card out of its pocket to have a slip of paper float down to the floor. I picked it up and turned it over to see a picture of a family, a mom and a dad and a teenaged daughter with her arms wrapped around a smiling golden retriever. Victoria didn't have a family of her own, so the picture had to have been from her childhood. They were all laughing at the camera, happy amidst the greenery without a care in the world. On the back was written, _Kara, Tom, Victoria, and Charlie, 1987_. That photo had been taken the year I was born, with no idea that she would be later murdered in cold blood.

Just then there was a knock on my door. I unlocked it, surprised to see Agent Hill on the other side. "I came to show you to the on site medical facilities," she explained. She frowned, looking at my hand. "Is that your S.H.I.E.L.D. badge?"

"It's Victoria's," I answered.

"May I?" she held out her hand. I paused before placing the badge and photo in it. She traced the words of the badge with her thumb before studying the picture. "She was a good agent, and a friend. She was...she was one of the few high level agents who accepted my appointment as Fury's second gracefully, though I was more than ten years her junior. She was dedicated, determined, loyal... S.H.I.E.L.D. lost a great agent that day," Hill murmured. She stared at the photo a second longer before handing them both back to me. "Coulson suggested we confiscate all of these, so they're no longer incriminating." She saw the look in my eyes. "It's just a suggestion. You'll keep hers as well?"

I nodded. "You said something about medical facilities?"

"Yes," Hill confirmed, gesturing me out into the hallway. "A few are ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. agents, but one of them's this really talented doctor who Tony's had around since he first started building his Iron Man suits. He decided to keep him on site when he was getting patched up every other day while learning to fly the suit."

"He must be really good, if Tony offered him permanent residence for a few scratches and burns."

Hill laughed. "Oh, in the beginning it was much more than that. But don't tell him I said that, it was confidential girl's-night-out talk with Pepper."

I looked at her semi-incredulously. "S.H.I.E.L.D.'s struggling to survive and you're going in girl's-nights-out with Stark's girlfriend?"

She pursed her lips. "This was before we knew about HYDRA, of course. Pepper and I connected after the Battle of New York."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have assumed."

"Apology accepted." She pressed the elevator button and we began to drift downward.

"For having hosted a battle between a demigod and his alien army and a giant green monster and four of his superhero allies just two years ago, New York doesn't look half bad," I commented. "Wasn't Stark Tower the center of the carnage?"

"It was," she replied. "But it was the sort of rebuilding where everyone pitched in. Had it been an attack by a foreign country, it would have been one big political pointing-of-fingers match. But the fact that they had been saved by a team of superheroes seemed to help unify them in the effort. Of course, it also spawned the creation of action figures and tactless 'I survived the Battle of New York' T-shirts, but that's only natural. I just hope the idiots walking down the streets in those shirts have the proper respect for the hundreds of casualties that day. And, at least for this section of the city, Stark being as rich as he is helped reconstruction a lot. Here we are." She pushed open the door in front of us to reveal some sort of lab.

A man in a white coat turned away from the counter to see us. "Hello, Maria. Have you brought me another patient?"

"Just check her over. This one patched herself up," Hill replied. "I'll be in my office if you need me." I dipped my head goodbye and she left me alone with the doctor.

"Specialist, then?" he asked cordially, making idle conversation as he gestured for me to have a seat on the chair in the center.

"Analyst, but I went through the Academy of Operations," I replied.

He nodded. "Usually it's the specialists I see that patch themselves up. They're also the ones who ignore the need for proper painkillers. Take your shirt off, please."

I pulled it over my head and removed my arm from the left side of my tank top, revealing the puckered scar. He first examined it with his eyes and then probed his fingers toward it, brushing it gently before pressing more firmly. I shifted away from his touch as fire rekindled in my shoulder. "I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" he asked.

"Not a specialist," I said in a low tone. "Never went through the torture classes. So yes, when you press on the place where a ball of metal going 2250 feet per second punctured my shoulder, it hurts."

"Yes, well, it seems to be healing fine, but I'd like to take a few blood samples." He pulled open the drawer and withdrew two needles connected to a small vial and a big vial. "Your arm."

I proffered it to him and he inserted it with a slight pinch. I watched impassively as the large vial slowly began to fill with dark red liquid. He removed the needle once it was full and met my eyes, holding the other aloft. "This is going to hurt a bit more," he advised me, gesturing to the bullet wound. I averted my eyes as his hands moved forward, unable to look this time. A nearly unbearable piercing sensation that makes me want to claw my own scar off is followed by a less uncomfortable tugging feeling. "Done," he said, and I looked down again, rolling my shoulder experimentally. There didn't seem to be too much long-term damage, just a small sting when I fully extended my arm. "You're all set. I'll contact you if your test results show anything negative, but otherwise I think you did a pretty good job on your own first aid," he dismissed me, moving back to the counter.

"Thanks," I slid off the chair and headed for the door. "I'll look forward to not hearing from you then."

He cracked a smile and waved me off as I slipped into the hallway. I went back to my room to address the other items I had bought on my venture outside. I reached into the largest bag and pulled out a colorful box, turning it over to peer inside. A plastic Iron Man helmet glared back at me, the slits for eyes staring blankly ahead. Behind it, kept in the packaging with zipties, were two bracelet-glove hybrids that lit up in the center when you pressed a button inside the pointer finger. All it took was a quick Google-Earth-slash-web-search to find the necessary information to ship a box to Perigoyev, and I packed the Iron Man set into an even larger cardboard box. I added the rosy scarf and mittens I had selected for his mother, and lastly an envelope with five hundred dollars in rubles for Sergey. It was more than enough to pay for the items I'd used from his store plus some extra in thanks for his hospitality. I included batteries and a note for Elena and Viktor:

_Elena, thank you for your thoughtfulness in the warm meals. I have reached home safely, although I hope to return to visit someday. -Aleksandra _I erased Aleksandra and replaced it with Ekaterina after giving myself a mental slap on the wrist.

_Viktor, go Iron Man. I'll never forget you. -Ekaterina_

Pleased, I put it all inside the box and sealed it shut. On the top I addressed it to Sergey in Perigoyev, trusting him to deliver the gifts to Viktor and his mother. Smiling slightly to myself, I placed it in the corner of the room to send later.

I missed Viktor. I missed Victoria. I missed my team. I missed Sabrina, Daniel, and Cam.

I missed S.H.I.E.L.D.

And so, the next item I pulled out of the bags was a box of red hair dye. I did just a streak. For her.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **


	18. Hub Mission (2011)

**Hello again! Sorry it's been so long; I got caught up with finals. Enjoy!**

* * *

[Mission Log:  
Location: The Hub  
9 September 2011  
14:28  
3 Years Prior to the HYDRA Uprising] _

My former SO stood up in front of the assembled analysts, eyeing us each as if making bets in her mind on which of us would screw up first. I really hoped it wouldn't be me.

It wasn't as if this was my first mission or anything. Not even close to that. I had the ID card in my front pocket that branded me a Level 2 agent, but I still found it hard to believe. A whirlwind seemed to have swept me up and dropped me here, a blur of two Academies, an exploding grenade, a supervising officer whose definition of fun was 'don't,' and a sudden upgrade in status. It had come barely two months after Agent Hand declared me out of her tutelage-apparently analysts moved up in the ranks very fast, because as soon as your skills were good enough they wanted you working on the more complex ops. It was...crazy. But I loved it.

We were currently located in one of the Hub's ops rooms. It was circular with glass walls extending all around except for the giant view screen at the front. There was a raised platform in the center where Agent Hand was standing, watching the screen, and surrounding that were three layers of analysts seated at computers with two aisles separating us out into thirds. From our seats, all of us could be addressed by Hand, see the huge main screen, and work on our own assignments on the computers. I was in the first row, the closest to the platform, on the outer edge of the right aisle.

"Team should be arriving in three minutes," Agent Hand announced, bringing us all to attention. "That gives me three minutes to fill all of you in on the team that's been assembled for this op. You all know what the objective is: find and destroy the explosives before they can be shipped out to the three major cities in the area. In the facility we estimate around twenty heavily armed mercenaries and five to ten true believers. According to our intel, the believers have been genetically mutated to be extra resilient to blows in most areas of their bodies. We have three separate teams going in from three different points of entry." She gestured to the giant screen and pulled the first team down from the bottom right corner. As she tapped each name, statistics and other data appeared beside a 360° rotating full-body image. "Agent John Garrett, Level 7, explosives specialist. Antoine Triplett, Level 3, field agent. Kyra Mears and Alison Hane, Level 4, explosive experts. Tom Ryan and James Dume, Level 5 field agents." She pulled out the next team. "Liam Marks, Level 7 field agent. Mitchell Young, Level 4 weapons specialist. Sabrina Park, Level 1 martial arts specialist." I nearly knocked my earpiece out as I was brushing a stray bit of hair behind my ear. Sabrina? I hadn't spoken with her in, well, years… In the few seconds it took me to recover from that shock, she had named the analyst on Sabrina's-Marks's, teams were referred to by number or the team leader-team and was starting on the third set. "...explosives specialist. Grant Ward, Level 5 weapons specialist…" Before I knew it, she had moved on and we were familiar with the agents we were about to be directing.

"Agent Hand," someone interrupted. "I've managed to hack into about half their security cameras. Uploading to you now…"

"Good," she said. "You all have the building specs on your machines—"

"Hub, this is Garrett. Teams are in position, waiting for your signal."

"Here we go, agents," Hand announced to all of us. "Garrett, you have a go."

On screen, three agents out of the pack knelt by their respective doors and inserted the miniature drills, tunneling straight through the locking mechanism. They rolled away as the 'guns' of the mission swept forward, muzzles up and ready to fire. "Four heat signatures on Garrett's nine o'clock," an analyst called out, hand to her earpiece.

"Two mercs on Mark's three," another said.

"Visual on the gifteds," I announced. "One's heading for Garrett's position."

"Garrett, be advised you have a powered hostile headed for you," Hand repeated, nodding at me. "Chaev, Harris, Carson, I want you monitoring their encounter with this gifted. Chaev, tactics, weaknesses; Harris, enhanced or deadly attributes; Carson, cross-reference with our databases. If we've seen anything like them before, I want to know about it."

The security camera feed from all six firearms as well as the facility itself appeared in black-and-white on my screen, and I concentrated on the moving figures in exclusion of all else besides keeping one ear open for further instructions from Hand. There was no excitement, no getting nervous, no worries, just the task at hand. I watched as a man with glowing hands approached Garrett and his team, and they took defensive positions. He did not seem to be carrying any weapon, but he merely picked up a chair and hurled it at them. It narrowly missed the two scientists' heads as it hurtled through the air and shattered against the wall. Garrett shouted something, probably the usual 'we are S.H.I.E.L.D., stand down or you will be met with deadly force' spiel. The man responded by hurling a desk this time from a nearby room, carrying it out over his head before advancing toward them and throwing it.

White flames appeared at the muzzles of their guns as they opened fire, only taking a few shots to conserve ammo. The man flinched as the bullets hit him, but picked the bullets off his skin and kept moving forward. Not off his skin, out of his skin. That meant he wasn't impenetrable. "He's not going down," Garrett shouted.

"Try switching to tranqs," Carson suggested suddenly, patching himself through directly to the team leader. On screen, Garrett barked the order at the Triplett and one of the other field agents, and they quickly adjusted and took aim again. As the first few rounds hit him he began moving faster, breaking into a run towards Garrett's team. There was no more time for long-range weapons fire, as he was upon them. Garrett ducked underneath his swinging arms and kicked him in the spine, propelling him past his team. The man recovered quickly and the agent still using regular bullets provided cover fire to give the rest of the team time to ready themselves for hand-to-hand combat. Garrett emptied his large caliber sidearm into the guy, but he refused to be deterred. The hulk of a man advanced towards them again.

Triplett holstered his weapon and socked him in the face, earning a recoil but almost immediate recovery. The man responded in kind, knocking him to the ground with one huge punch. "Two more gifteds headed for Marks's, do we have a strategy?" Hand demanded. Just then, Garrett launched himself at the man, wrapping his left arm around his neck and pulling sharply on his chin with the other. The man's head snapped sideways and then his body slid to the floor.

"Vic, these things are damn nasty to try to kill, but they _can_ be killed," Garrett came through a few seconds later.

"We've got it, Agent Garrett," Hand replied. "You should be clear for the next hundred yards." She looked at us with a hard gaze. "Pair up with a specialist on Marks's team, guide them through taking out two more of the mutants," she ordered. Agents Young and Carter were snapped up by seniority, and before I knew it, I was speaking to Sabrina.

"Agent Park," I addressed her. "Bullets and tranquilizer have no effect. Go for hand-to-hand."

"Copy that," she replied a second later, leaving me unable to tell by her words or intonation whether she'd recognized me on the other end. My screen had switched over to their feed, and I could see two more gifteds lumbering toward them. The first took a large swing at Young, who dropped and rolled away, leaving Sabrina behind him to face the mutant. She swept to the side at the last second, kicking one leg underneath him and connecting with his shins. He fell first to his knees and then on his face, while Sabrina skidded into the wall, catching herself before she could smack anything important against it. She leapt up, twisting her legs under his arms and throwing herself into a corkscrew, landing him flat on his back. She kicked herself away from him, staggering to her feet.

Somewhere to my left, Carson cut in, "Grenades," and then fell silent. The analysts relayed his discovery to the team members equipped with the explosive devices.

"Hand to all units, get at least twenty feet away from all gifted hostiles," Agent Hand barked. Sabrina took off down the hallway with two of her teammates. The man Sabrina had forced to the ground was stunned, but he arose slowly, shaking it off. Carter pulled out a small, round object and hurled it at the men before diving forward. The cameras whited out.

"We've lost visual on the situation," Hand said. "Auditory confirmation of target destruction required. Marks, please respond."

"Young?"

"Carter?"

"Park?" I tried.

"Marks, please respond," Hand repeated. "Garrett, can you confirm status of Marks's team?"

"We're nowhere near them, but we can double back on your say-so," Garrett replied.

Finally there was a crackle of static and his voice came through. "No casualties," he reported. "But the gifteds are down. Grenades are most definitely effective."

"Copy that," Hand acknowledged. "The cameras and infrared sensors are blinded, so you need to leave this sector of the facility as quickly as possible."

"Understood." There was a slight release of tension in the room, but before more than a few seconds had passed the third team had run into a full squadron of mercenaries and were pinned down in a firefight with them. No sooner had Garrett aided them than Marks reported in that they had found the storage room of explosives and his experts were dismantling them for transport now.

"Incoming," I said as bright dots of hostiles lit up my screen. "Three mercs." They took up defensive positions around the hallway opening at my warning.

"Agent Hand, local police chatter has a four-car dispatch to this location for shots fired," someone called out.

"Contact the precinct, get them to relay that dispatch," Hand ordered. "S.H.I.E.L.D. override 57-300. Also enact an overt S.H.I.E.L.D. perimeter around the complex."

"Based on our most recent intel and calculations, a blast radius and fallout area of at least six blocks will be needed for the amount of explosive we believe them to possess," an analyst explained.

"Set the perimeter at two blocks," Hand said. "Once it's established, we can move it outward from there."

"We have three pounds of explosive secure and are ready to move out. Hub, do you copy?" Marks asked.

"Hand, our intel has this facility having five pounds," one of the analysts told her.

"Marks, escort your scientists back to the vans and then return to the facility. We believe there to be two more pounds unaccounted for."

"Copy that," Marks acknowledged.

"Coordinate a more spread-out sweep of the complex," Hand instructed us. "Ashmore, Gray, start looking at traffic conditions. I want the quickest route back to the airfield, taking into account possible civilian casualties in case of a chase."

Sabrina spoke in my ear. "Chaev, we just passed a garage with some of the mutants loading cases into three trucks." So she did recognize me. There wasn't time to think about it.

"Hand, Marks's team has spotted mutants loading what is possibly our missing two pounds onto trucks in the garage," I relayed.

"Detonating grenades in the vicinity of the explosives is dangerous," Carson warned her.

Hand nodded. "The two martial arts specialists, Park and Carter, stay behind at the entrance to the garage, but they do not engage the enemy until Garrett can join them."

"Stay out of sight there but do _not_ engage until you are joined by Garrett's team," I told Sabrina as the same orders were given to Carter. On screen, she and the other agent stopped while Marks and the rest of their team continued onward out of the facility. Sabrina chanced a look around the corner into the garage before disappearing behind the wall again and holstering her gun. She rolled her shoulders in anticipation.

"We are less than a minute away from them," Garrett reported in. "We have visual on the mutants."

"Hand to Mears and Hane, your target is to identify and secure the explosives out of the trucks. Agents Garrett, Triplett, Ryan, Dume, Park, and Carter, you are again cleared to use deadly force if necessary, but if at all possible we would like one or more of the mutants alive in order to identify the individual or organization that provided the explosives and their _enhancements_."

On screen, Triplett said something to Garrett that, if my mediocre lip-reading skills were accurate, was akin to, "Sir, six against four and those four with powers? I don't like those odds." Turned away from the camera, Garrett's response was a mystery to me, but from the expression on Agent Triplett's face it was some kind of smart-ass comment.

The six agents moved forward, stealthily at first, but breaking into a run when the mutants spotted them. The first took Ryan down in a tackle, the two tumbling away from the colliding groups. Sabrina ducked to a swing at the head but took a direct hit in the arm, shunted to the side and skidding a few feet across the floor. She had nasty-looking scrapes down her forearm and elbow, while her other arm she let hang to the side, unwilling or unable to fight with it. A little ways away, Garrett and Triplett had teamed up on one of the hostiles, beating it into submission with alternating punches from each side.

"Hub, the last two pounds of explosive are confirmed and secure," Hane said, but my attention remained focused on the fight. Carter, Ryan, and Dume were each taking on a mutant on their own, although that changed as Garrett and Triplett rejoined the fray, having choked their hostile into unconsciousness. Sabrina went to the aid of Dume, pushing him out the way of a particularly crushing blow and causing the target's leg to buckle with a well-placed kick to the knee.

As soon as three of the four were down, Hand ordered Sabrina and Triplett to accompany Mears, Hane, and the explosives back to the S.H.I.E.L.D. vans. I couldn't help but exhale in relief as Sabrina reunited with Marks at the perimeter and climbed inside the van. "We've loaded up the cargo," Marks informed us.

"The mutants are now all down. Two prisoners for live transport," an analyst from the left side of the circle reported.

"Marks, take your team and that van to the airstrip." She crossed to the other side of the platform to address a mousy-haired agent over there. "Ashmore, upload the route to the van's GPS."

"Uploaded," she confirmed.

"Tell the third team to fall back to the perimeter as well. As soon as Garrett arrives with the mutants, they'll leave for the airfield as well. Can I get a body count?"

"No casualties on our side. The number of hostiles taken out are consistent with our moderate estimates of the number in the facility, ma'am," someone said.

"All right. We need those mutants in proper holding cells as soon as possible, so as soon as the last two strike teams reach the airfield, they should take off. We'll send in another team to bag the bodies for autopsy and collect any additional data afterwards." Some of the analysts around me were leaning back in their chairs, but I knew better. "What are you doing?" Hand snapped. "The op's not over until they are in the air headed back here, do you understand?" The agents who had relaxed sprang into stiff-backed, eyes-lowered submissives. Agent Hand ran a right ship.

"They're boarding the plane now," one of them dared speak up.

"Everyone's accounted for," Garrett's voice crackled through. "Takeoff in thirty seconds. ETA twelve minutes to the Hub."

"Copy that, we'll be ready for the new intakes," Hand replied. She turned to one of the agents in the front row. "Coordinate that with security. Have them meet them on the airstrip."

"Yes ma'am," she stood up and left the room out the sliding glass doors.

"Chaev," Hand startled me, "Print the transcripts for this mission and give them to me. Then send a copy to each of the agents on the ground for them to review and sign off on for their reports."

"Right away, ma'am," I said. I pulled up the documents on the computer, transcribed by the set of analysts closest to the main screen. I sent them to the printer and then dragged all of the names of the team members into the window and mailed them each a copy. That's what the lower-level and/or disgraced analysts were stuck doing as the action occurred all around them, typing everyone else's words. Even worse was the camera video transcription task that came later.

"Chaev, you and Harris will also be doing video transcription," she continued, definitively confirming for the millionth time that Agent Victoria Hand did not play favorites.

"They have reached the tarmac," an analyst announced. "Touchdown."

Hand nodded. "You are all dismissed." There was a flurry of logging out of computers as she walked down the aisle and the glass doors slid open to let her leave. I sent myself the video files I'd be dealing with later and left, catching up to Hand as she'd stopped to talk to another Level 7 agent. "Where are you headed?" she asked.

"My quarters," I said. "You?"

"Check-in to greet the returning teams," she replied. "They're nearby; we can walk together." She paused. "That went smoothly."

"Yes, I'm glad. What will happen to the two gifteds we brought in?"

"They'll go on the Index, of course, and their physiological traits will be documented. Then they'll be interrogated separately, to find out everything we need to know. If they cooperate, there's a possibility of rehabilitation with observation, but seeing as they were transporting explosives with intent to use, I highly doubt it."

"The Fridge, then?"

Hand smiled. "I'm not sure they need something quite so secure, but that'll be up to the scientists to ascertain. At this rate we'll need to start cutting through some more rock to make room for all the shipments we're sending there."

"Have you ever been there?"

"Visited a few times. Not a pleasant place," she said. We kept walking, passing the shortcut that I would've used to get back to my room had I not been with her. It used a section of restricted hallway and was the most direct route to the quarters, but the panel was faulty. It would've cut a good fifteen minutes out of my trek.

"You wouldn't happen to be able to tell me where the Fridge is, would you?" I tried carefully.

She gave me the look. "You know that's classified. When you reach Level 7, you'll find out."

I gave a mock sigh. "One of the five great mysteries of the lower-level agent. The location of the most secret base there is that really isn't secret, what's behind that continually locked door in sector seven, what Director Fury looks like without his eyepatch, exactly how ancient Agent Fillmore is, and the true identity of the fabled Cavalry."

That got a laugh out of her. "You'll probably find out the answers to most of those someday. Maybe not number four though. He's very protective of that little secret."

"So you don't even know? He's terrorized, I mean, _taught_, at the Academy forever..."

"No, and it would be a misuse of S.H.I.E.L.D. resources to open his file and-"

"Vic!" someone shouted from in front of us. Agent John Garrett strode toward us.

"Don't call me that," she said harshly in lieu of a greeting. I spotted Sabrina a little further away.

"Still as pertinacious as ever, I see," Garrett commented. "Good to see you too, Vic."

She purposely looked past him. "Marks, no injuries? How's the leg?"

"Fine, nothing that a few weeks' R&amp;R can't fix... Oh, wait..."

I nodded goodbye to Agent Hand and turned down the nearby hallway. I got only a quarter of the way down before I heard from behind me. "Alex. Alex!" I turned to face her. "Are you really trying to leave without even saying hi to me?"

"No, I just..." My eyes swept her up and down, settling on sling. "...was going to let you get to medical for your arm before seeking you out."

"No, you weren't," Sabrina said, undeterred. "You were going to slink off again."

"Again? What do you mean again?" I demanded.

"This is not a discussion we should be having here," she said, grabbing my arm and pulling me into an empty nearby room. There was no furniture to speak of, just white-washed walls and a tile floor.

"What do you mean, again?" I repeated.

"Umm, do finals ring any bells for you? Oh, no, of course they don't, 바보, because you weren't there!" I didn't know what 바보 meant, but by her tone it was some kind of insult.

I stared at her dumbfounded for a moment. "I almost got blown up. By a grenade!"

"And then you disappeared off the map like you had been!"

"It's called being injured!"

"It's called being inconsiderate!"

"Well how was I supposed to tell you then, homing pigeon? It's not like we were allowed outside communication!"

"You could have after. After finals you would have been an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D. with full privileges and everything, and my specialist cadet status would have afforded the same. You could have, Alex, and you should have. But you didn't."

"Why does it even matter so much? Donofrio said he'd tell you that I was fine and where I was going. It's not like-"

She cut me off. "You knew exactly how bad it was; don't you try to deny it. It's been three 조금도 years, and you couldn't pick up a phone. Send an email. Hell, you're an analyst with access to all our personal data; you could've shown up at any one of a trillion different places to find me. But no. And I don't think you ever would have had you not been forced to talk with me over comms today." She broke off, anger slowly dissipating into something else. "Hearing your voice on that op today... It was like hearing a ghost. Because that's what you were to me. To us. You were dead, Alex. You were hit by a grenade and you never came back."

"If you wanted to talk to me so much, why didn't you call me?" I challenged.

"Because you were the one who didn't show up. By all accounts, you were just fine. Doing stellar at the other Academy. Because you were the one who had abandoned us, with no thought as to how that would affect us, our lives, our finals."

"What do you mean, affect your finals? I didn't choose to be almost blown up, Sabrina! I didn't choose to have to leave Ops!"

"I'm sure it was a choice," Sabrina growled. "We're not allowed to transfer Academies. They're not going to force you to make them bend a rule."

"Okay, look, I'm sorry I didn't contact you," I said finally. "It was wrong of me, but... I guess the pressures just kept mounting. I was worried about what you'd say since I didn't return, and then after a week I was worried what you'd say about it taking a week for me to call you. A week became a month, and twelve of those became a year. But it was wrong, and I'm sorry."

"It takes a hell of a lot to make me mad," she whispered. "But you did it, Alex. You did it." She walked slowly over to the wall and leaned against it, allowing herself to slip down until she was seated on the floor with her knees up to her chest and back against it. Cautious and unsure of how she would react, I sat down next to her, leaving a good foot and a half of space between us.

"I'm sorry," I said again. Pause. "But...but are you sure that's all you're mad about? I can't help but feel like there has to be something more."

"You were supposed to be there," she said flatly. "You were supposed to be there, with me. With us. For all the stuff you missed. Graduation. Saying goodbye to Cam. Saying goodbye to _me_. And I needed you those three weeks." She stared at the ground, scuffing it with her heel. "They say the hardest part of specialist training is the torture class held in the first three weeks. You said you'd be there, you'd be by my side for it. We'd face it as a team."

"Sabrina..." I uttered in a hushed voice. "How bad was it?"

She made like she hadn't heard me. "You were supposed to be there, holding back my hair as I puked from whatever poison they'd had us eat at breakfast. You were supposed to be there, talking me through it when my hands wouldn't stop shaking enough to drink a cup of water. You were supposed to be there, convincing me I could still breathe after the waterboarding exercises. Helping me bandage the finger I stuck a nail into in order to pass the practice polygraph. Counted down the days with me until it was over, kept my spirits up despite the fact that there were times when every nerve in my body was on fire and I just wanted to die."

"That's..." There were no words to describe the immense guilt crushing me at that moment. "I'm so, so sorry, Sabrina. But if it makes you feel any better...I missed you guys too at the Academy of Communications. They are..._control freaks_ over there."

A smile tugged at her lips in spite of herself. "How so?"

"Well, in the field ops pathway they made us wear bracelets that monitored heart rate, blood pressure, and air intake twenty-four seven, and we had to write reports explaining every little spike throughout our days. And we had to keep dream journals, which we would lose points on if we had nightmares. That place may be easiest to get into, but I swear we were losing cadets to Operations weekly."

"Why would they care if you had nightmares?"

"Because in Communications it's all about self-control. It's preparatory, it makes sense I guess, but it's no picnic. Operations teaches you how to survive, while Communications teaches you to make the hard decisions. Ops there are no decisions, just orders to follow. Communications we have all of your lives in our hands. We make the wrong call, it's you guys and our consciences that take the hit." I paused. "Sabrina, I'm really, really sorry I wasn't there for you."

"It's... We're here now, so let's just...catch up, okay? Tell me more about the Academy of Communications."

"Well, it's all one building, a lot like this one. You're separated out into three pathways: intelligence, administration, and field ops. Coming from Operations, I went for the latter of course."

"So does that mean you can still be in the field, or are you stuck behind a desk all day?" Sabrina asked.

"I am _not_ stuck behind I desk all day," I scowled. "So yes, I can submit a request to become a field analyst and have my own team whenever I'm ready. But I want to get a little experience here first. Anyway, I got to skip past a lot of the tactical theory stuff because we'd learned it at Ops."

"It sounds like a lot of sitting at a desk," Sabrina teased.

"Okay, how about this? The big project, final year-you're not going to tell anyone about this, right?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Cross my heart."

"It's only the cadets who aren't supposed to know. It's this simulation they put us through, only they didn't tell us it was a simulation. For my class we were running an op out of Pakistan, and half of the squadron on the ground was blown up by a missile. And we thought it was real."

"That's...harsh."

"It teaches us the hard way how to work under pressure and how to deal with the emotional aftermath of it," I nodded. "You can imagine how our dream journal scores plummeted after _that_."

"When did they tell you that it was all a simulation?"

"Like a month later, once everyone had themselves back under control and had made peace with it." She looked slightly incredulous. "Running an op, it has the potential to be full of tough decisions. They taught us that there's always a number-a number of acceptable losses, agents and civilians. For a while, that was a hard thing to wrap my head around."

"It sounds like they're treating us as expendable," Sabrina said, hostility providing an edge to her voice.

"That's what it seemed like, at first," I confessed. "But it just takes a look at the Academy-declassified missions to see to what lengths S.H.I.E.L.D. is willing to go to make sure every field agent returns safely. You should see the reports of how much we spend a year on the latest body armor and weaponry. It's enormous."

"Was here your first assignment?" Sabrina asked. "SO and everything? What clearance level are you now?"

"Two," I replied. "And yes, straight from the Academy to the Hub. My supervising officer was Victoria Hand."

"Isn't she, like, in charge of the entire Hub?"

I nodded. "She's a bit intimidating to work with. She told me two days into my assignment that she normally doesn't take on trainees, but she wanted to make sure that I was up to snuff what with only having attended the Academy of Communications for two years, since the Hub runs the most ops every day of any base."

"Friendly," Sabrina said sarcastically.

"She's not as bad as she makes herself out to be," I shrugged. "Stickler for protocol and doesn't abide lateness or spelling errors, but still. What about you, your SO?"

"Agent Elizabeth Carter, you saw her on that mission with me. She's all right."

"Agent Carter," I repeated. "Any relation to Peggy Carter?"

"None at all," she replied. "And she hates it when people ask that."

I narrowed my eyes at her in the friendliest of manners. "First thing you asked when you met her?"

She shrugged, a grin breaking through despite her best efforts. "Pretty much."

"Hey, what about Daniel and Cam?"

"Oh, right. Daniel's back at the Hummingbird doing top-secret, highly-classified, if-I-told-you-I'd-have-to-kill-you blah-blah. Cam just got shipped out to New Mexico a few months ago on some task force investigating some weird disturbances down that way."

"Weird disturbances?" I questioned. "I heard about the investigative team being dispatched there, but I haven't heard a thing about them since."

"Means it either was a false alarm or something really huge," Sabrina said.

"It would be cool if it were, like, aliens or something," I laughed.

She waggled her eyebrows. "You never know. You should call them both. They'll be happy to hear from you; they weren't nearly as pissed at you as I was."

"Glad to hear that in the past tense," I told her. "What's next for you, when you rid yourself of Agent Carter?"

"Transfer to Seoul, I hope, to be assigned to a permanent team there. Right now Carter and I spend a lot of time on planes, going wherever they need us. Although, coolest story to date..." she leaned closer, lowering the volume of her voice to barely above a whisper. "...a few weeks ago we were on a five-man op as the backup for a certain _covert tactical asset_."

"You were the backup for an assassin?"

"A-word," she said harshly.

"You were the backup for an..._infiltrator_ on a mission to 'take care of' someone? Who was it?"

"Who comes to mind when you think 'covert tactical asset'?"

"You-hitting me and Daniel in the face with your foot for calling you an assassin," I told her.

She rolled her eyes. "Okay, who do you think of when you think 'assassin'?" She said the word as if it were something vile she had to spit out of her mouth.

"Natasha Romanoff-Black Widow," I said automatically.

She grinned. "I can neither confirm nor deny that fact."

"You called it a fact."

"I suppose I did."

* * *

**Thanks for reading!**


	19. Reuniting with Sabrina & Daniel (2014)

**Sorry for the radio silence! We're reaching the end of what I've written so far, but I shall endeavor to write more before we hit that point. Thanks for reading!**

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: Stark Tower  
19 June 2014  
10:00  
2 Months After the HYDRA Uprising] _

"Enter," Hill said. I opened the door and stepped into her office, taking a seat after she gestured for me to do so. "It's good to see you again, Agent Chaev. Thanks for coming in."

"Hey, you're the one providing me a place to stay," I smiled.

"Have you given any thought to where you might go after this?"

"If I can, I'd like to continue to be an agent."

She nodded, not entirely surprised. "By joining Coulson's team? It'll take some work, but I can get into contact with him eventually. Off the grid does have its complications."

The door handle twisted behind me with a metal hissing sound and my hand leapt to where my gun would normally be holstered. "Maria, one of your brilliant new scientists set off the internal fire alarms in the lab again."

"I'll take care of it as soon as we're done here, Tony," Hill told him. Stark looked at me.

"Oh, great, another one. Please tell me you at least didn't use the corporate plane this time." He held out his hand, and I shook it hesitantly. "Tony Stark, genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist, and apparently _owner of a brand new hotel called Stark Tower_." He gave a pointed look to Hill over my shoulder.

"It's nice to meet you," I said uncertainly. "Thanks for, you know, helping to save New York."

Stark's gaze slid to me again with something new in his dark eyes. "See, now that's interesting. Civilians? I get thanked all the time, sometimes too much. But you S.H.I.E.L.D.-types, you seem to think it was my duty or something. You're the first one that's thanked me yet. I like you, kid." He smiled. "Let me know if there's anything you need. Or, rather, let JARVIS know. He's very good at that sort of thing." Stark returned his attention to Hill. "Talk to your scientists, and I'll need that finances report by Wednesday." He left the office.

"Tony likes to barge in," Hill said by way of explanation as I sat down again. "Now, where were we? Right, Coulson." She shifted a stack of files on her desk. "As I said, it might take a week or so to get ahold of him, and even then, he doesn't like new people. You might have to go through a screening process...a polygraph, that sort of thing."

"That's fine," I nodded.

"In the mean time, I think it would be a good idea to set you up at PHOENIX. You'll be able to do more good there than sitting here in Stark Tower while you wait for Coulson's answer, and if he says no we can always revisit you working here if you want."

"Okay," I nodded in agreement. "What's the likelihood of Coulson letting me in?"

"More likely than another alien attack, less likely than me getting a promotion?" Hill suggested.

"Meaning?"

"It's a coin toss. Coulson's a good and a fair man, but recent events have made him more cynical than he used to be, less trusting. He's very protective of his team, and Ward's betrayal hit them pretty hard, so he's not eager to admit many new faces." She turned to her computer and began to type. "I finally managed to get your personal effects out of storage, so I'll have them shipped to PHOENIX headquarters. I'm also arranging a flight there for you along with a couple other ex-agents and a crate of specialized supplies they requested. It'll leave in about four hours, so in two you should meet Hanson in the foyer and he'll escort you there. Because keeping the base's location a secret is imperative, it will require a blindfold on your part."

"Understood."

"Good luck out there, Agent Chaev."

"You too." I left the office, heading back to the elevator to go up to my room. It occurred to me that I should invest in some sort of suitcase, but it appeared Hill had thought about that already-two large duffel bags were waiting for me on my bed. I packed quickly; everything I owned went into those bags, but by the time I was done each was only about three-fourths full. At the last second I asked JARVIS about the ICER gun if had with me upon arrival that had been confiscated for the duration of my stay. He informed me that I could receive it from Hanson on my way out.

I met the man and his squad on the first floor with my bags, and he nodded for two of his guys to carry them out to the black SUV. I climbed into the back with him, attaching my seatbelt. When we arrived at the airfield, Hanson affixed a small metallic button to each of my temples, and with the touch of the remote they expanded outward into a high-tech blindfold that built outwards from my brow to over the arch of my nose with a small _snick_ sound. Through it I could see vague, blue-cast outlines of objects very close to me, but nothing beyond that. Facial features also were indistinguishable. A few more groups of people got onto the plane after me with occasional _snick_s of their own before the plane started accelerating down the tarmac.

"Agents going to start new lives," Hanson told me. "They're headed to PHOENIX too, but you'll be separated from them until one of the directors talks to you personally and clears you to work there."

When we landed, Hanson guided me off the plane and into yet another van, which parked somewhere else about fifteen minutes later. From the cool air and the echoey sounds, I guessed it was a parking garage, but I wasn't sure. After a short trip in the elevator, Hanson deposited me in a chair and the blindfold retracted again. He removed the pair from my temples and then bade me goodbye and good luck, saying he was needed back at Stark Tower.

A few minutes later, the door opened and a familiar face walked in. "Aleksandra?"

"Daniel?!" He grinned back at me, face lighting up as he extended his arms for a hug, which I happily obliged. "What are you doing here...you're not _the director_...?

"Actually, somehow, yes," Daniel said. "We started the program together, out of Fury's files. It's taken a lot of work, but it's good to know that we're making a difference. It also helps to have people like Maria and Stark on board."

"I never expected..." I shrugged helplessly. "What happened to you after the HYDRA uprising?"

"Walk with me," Daniel said, opening the door and gesturing out into the hallway. "I think we'll waive the interview just this once, yeah? Anyway, I was stationed at the Hummingbird when it all went down. We only had two HYDRA insurgents, so after we dispatched them we shut everything down and went dark. Took a single jet to the Hub and then scattered to the wind when we heard the U.S. military was getting involved." He opened another door that lead to a darkened room. Inside, a desk was illuminated by the golden light of a lamp. A woman stood silhouetted with her back to us, talking on the phone.

"Yes, this means everything turned out all right. Destroy this phone, and you're free." Sabrina.

I turned to Daniel, mouthing, "You didn't tell me she was here too!" He shrugged sheepishly in response.

"And Cindy? Enjoy your new life," Sabrina said before ending the call. She looked down at her desk again, tapping the down arrow key. "Hey, Daniel, didn't we decide to put Rigani in New Mexico instead of Oklahoma?" she asked without looking up.

"No, North Dakota," Daniel replied. "Look who our newest recruit is."

"Oh, yeah, hi Alex," she said without looking up.

"...you knew?" Daniel asked incredulously.

Sabrina grinned. "I signed the plane manifest, and her name was on it. Surprise!" She exchanged a smirk with me and then a hug.

"And you, after the HYDRA uprising? How did you end up here?"

"Happened to be in the air heading back to Seoul when their message went live and caught it on our feed. We put two and two together and parachuted out. Then I headed for the Triskelion, but the helicarriers were discovered before I got there and I ended up going for Stark Tower instead."

I raised an eyebrow. "Stark Tower? Why?"

"Stark visited the Seoul base once. As you might imagine, he spent most of the tour looking at the girls and the gadgets. I happened to be sparring in the gym when we went by, and he complimented me. Said I was free to drop by his place anytime-he likes having eye candy around the tower. I don't think he was imagining it quite so much in the a-whole-lot-of-people-are-trying-to-kill-or-imprison-me way, but an offer's an offer. Daniel and I dug up the old PHOENIX program file, and we got the resources to start it."

"Do you have an ID card with you?" Daniel cut in. I nodded, fishing it out and handing it to him. "Okay, I'll remagnetize it for our purposes." He inserted it into a gray machine about the size of a printer in one corner of the room.

"What about you?" Sabrina asked. "You were MIA for a long time, Alex."

"Let's see... Like you, I parachuted out of a plane," I smiled, "but in my case, I got shot on the way down. I was at the Hub when HYDRA came out, but Agent Hand and I left for the Fridge. We were betrayed; I wandered the Russian wilderness for a couple weeks. Found a little town and waited a month for the train there, and then contacted the higher-ups. Hill was the first one to pick up, and she put me on a plane to you two."

She squinted at me. "You seem...different."

"So do you," I told her. "What are you working now, administration? I'm sure there's a lot of specialized martial arts skills going on there."

"Yes, data and filing was always your thing, wasn't it?" she rolled her eyes. "Eh, it needs to be done. Making a difference, you know?"

"A lot's happened since we all last saw each other," Daniel returned. "We're all different." He handed me back my ID card. "Sabrina, sorry to distract you; I know you still have several calls to make. I'll give Aleksandra the tour and then we'll meet later, okay?"

"Sure," she nodded in a very un-Sabrina-like manner. I had expected a sigh and maybe a mock groan too.

"Come on," Daniel murmured. "This way to the elevator."

As soon as we were a little way down the hallway, I asked, "So can I know where we are now, or is that classified still?"

"You're in the secret base Fox," he said.

"Fox? Like 'sly as a'?"

His eyebrows furrowed but his lips quirked up into a quick smile. "No, Fawkes, F-A-W-K-E-S." He gave me a rueful sideways look. "Sabrina's fault, not mine. The project had already been named PHOENIX by Fury, rebirth and rising from the ashes and all that, so as soon as Sabrina heard that this place was called A546169, well... It needed a new name, and you know how she loved the Harry Potter books."

"...okay. But no, I meant where in the country. Where on Earth."

"I suppose we'll be letting you out some-you can join the supply run rotation-so I guess you should know. Middle of the desert in Arizona, deep underground."

"I'm not sure I _want_ to be part of the supply run," I laughed.

Daniel gestured down one hallway. "This is where the agents awaiting placement stay. They're usually here for a couple of weeks, a month max. We've got six residents right now-wait, no, nine, with the ones that arrived on your plane."

"Why does it take so long?" I asked.

"Forging documents is the easy part. Setting up histories...we've got a team of analysts who basically do just that day after day, setting up both an online record of their lives and inserting them into the normal databases. We've got two of the S.H.I.E.L.D. psychologists coaching them on how to blend best into their civilian lives and start memorizing their new history. Most of the people we get here aren't Academy of Ops graduates and aren't used to assuming cover identities in the first place."

"How do you make sure one of them isn't a HYDRA insurgent you're placing?" I questioned.

"Maria deals with that. She only sends us people she trusts. The people working here, like you, they get vetted by us as well."

"What will I be doing?"

"One of our agents managing our funding decided to go through the program himself, so I think we'll use you there. How do you feel about stealing money from the U.S. government?" I raised an eyebrow. He laughed at the expression on my face. "I'm kidding. Sort of. It's not really stealing. Once HYDRA appeared the various governments denied us access to our accounts. They haven't been able to fully re-possess the money again, so we're able to siphon off of it for the time being and set up other accounts for PHOENIX."

"Won't they notice money going missing?"

"You'll learn the art of taking enough to stockpile a tidy sum for us but not so much as it looks much different from the parcels the countries are receiving, especially the smaller ones. It's mostly the large ones that are fighting over how much money each contributed and to which aspect of the agency and whatnot. Thank God for the inefficiency of international relations. Welcome to the team, Aleksandra. Ready to be a pseudo-criminal?"

* * *

**We are close to rejoining the team... :)**


	20. The Hub Bar (2011)

**We've almost reached the end of what I've pre-written, so my apologies as the updates slow down. To be honest, after all of the events of season 2, I'm not quite sure where Aleksandra's story goes beyond when she rejoins S.H.I.E.L.D. **

* * *

[Personal Log:  
Location: The Hub  
22 December 2011  
20:56  
3 Years Prior to the HYDRA Uprising] _

The bar was lit more dimly than the rest of the Hub, probably an attempt to give the place a bit of ambience reminiscent of the outside world. There were plenty of tables scattered about the room, most of which were full of agents like myself in uniform, drinking and laughing with their friends and teammates in their hours off.

I didn't know whose idea it was to install a bar in the middle of a S.H.I.E.L.D. complex, but I could see the appeal. You had to card in, and the agent bartenders could monitor your intake. It also prevented loosened lips from accidentally spilling S.H.I.E.L.D. secrets to civilians and improved the quality of life of agents stuck on the base. The carding in system also prevented hangovers for agents about to embark on missions by denying them entry, not that it happened very often. We'd all worked really hard to get here-no S.H.I.E.L.D. agent was going to jeopardize everything for the sake of a drink.

I didn't usually frequent the bar, and definitely not for the alcohol. I did enjoy the social aspect, though, and one could almost always find a group of acquaintances to sit down with. I walked up to the bar and requested a glass of ice water, before perching on one of the stools and surveying the room.

A female agent caught my eye, sitting three stools down from me at the bar. She was nursing a glass of amber liquid and as she turned her head slightly I could see tear tracks down her face catching the light. She looked to be a bit older than me with thick golden brown hair. She wore a specialist's uniform, but lying next to her glass was a gold wedding ring inset with a small diamond. The bartender delivered my glass of water and I picked it up with my left hand. I set it on the bar next to her and sat down.

"You okay?" I asked.

She looked at me, surprised to have company. "You were at the briefing for Arkham," she said, taking another drink.

"Yes, I was one of the analysts working on it in real time," I answered. "I'm surprised you remembered."

"I don't forget faces."

"Good skill for a specialist," I told her. When she didn't reply immediately, I asked lightly, "So what are you doing here?"

She smiled, tilting her head at me. It didn't reach her eyes. "Can't a girl go to a bar for a drink whenever she wants to?"

"Not when she has her wedding ring lying on the bar instead of on her third finger," I told her.

She took another swig of whatever hard alcohol coated the bottom of that glass. "Maybe I'm trying to pick up a guy."

"In a bar full of spies and people who can tell you're about to lie before you've even said anything? There _have_ to be easier targets somewhere else," I returned her smile, trying my best to sound as sincere as I was. I didn't normally do this, this comforting thing-in fact crying makes me very uncomfortable-but there was something about the lost look in her eyes that had gotten me over here.

"That's what makes it fun," she quipped.

"So, are you? Trying to pick up a guy?"

"No." She returned her gaze to her drink, pulling something from her pocket. She set down a man's gold band next to her own. "Just having trouble believing that it's over, that's all." The way she said "it's over" made me think her husband hadn't died in action. "I'm Bobbi, by the way."

"Aleksandra," I replied. "Was he a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent?"

She scoffed, as if the suggestion amused her. "Hardly. He was more of a...private military contractor, I guess. But once upon a long time ago he was a Lieutenant in the SAS."

"How long had you been married?"

"Just two years. Felt like longer though. We met on an op, on opposite sides. Then we got stuck in a bunker together for a day and a half. He annoyed me so much at first, but then after we got out of there, I couldn't stop thinking about him. We saw each other off and on for a year before getting married. We were...happy." Her hand fisted in her lap and then released.

"What happened?" I asked softly.

"We started fighting. A lot. About my work with S.H.I.E.L.D., about his work in the private sector. He was gone a lot or I was. When the door slamming started... He blamed it on trust issues and I blamed it on a lack of emotional connection, but it was really just...tense. Not working. He called me a lot of names and I screamed some nasty things at him, and then it was over."

"How long ago...?"

"Three days." She wiped her face with the back of her hand. "Three days and I feel like I can't breathe. I'm blaming myself and I'm blaming him and it's just a mess. He's probably halfway across the world by now filling his pocketbook with high-pay mercenary jobs and drinking his way across Europe. And even if I walked up to him right now, I don't know what I would say." Bobbi sighed. "It's not even that I want to get back together, it's just...it hurts, you know?"

"I'm sorry."

She fingered the two rings and then swept them both off of the bar and into her pocket. She drained her glass, standing up from her stool. "Yeah, well, thanks for listening. I'd better go."

"You're not going to...to do anything stupid, are you?"

She smiled. "I'm not going to go jump off a bridge, if that's what you're asking." She hailed the bartender. "Three-olive martini, hold the olives."

"You seem more like a gun to the head kind of girl to me," I told herwhen she turned back to me, matching her smile.

"Who needs a gun?" Her eyes glinted as she tapped the two batons strapped to her calves. The bartender delivered her drink and she downed it in a couple large gulps before placing the empty glass back on the counter. "It was nice to meet you, Aleksandra. Give me a call sometime. You're an analyst, I'm sure you can find my number." And then she turned and walked out.

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**Thanks for reading! Hope you all have a great day :)**


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